Non Omnis Moriar
by OriginalAlcy
Summary: In the wake of Sykes' foiled attempt to destroy the Warehouse, Myka finds herself at the mercy of her tangled emotions. An unsuspecting Pete suggests cookies, but her only hope for restoring a semblance of normality is the very source of the problem – H.G. Wells. However as the Warehouse is embroiled in a dangerous new plot, the path to resolution may be lost altogether.
1. The Healing Power of Cookies

**A/N –** The wonderful characters of Myka and H.G. Wells are the main reason I watch Warehouse 13 (besides the fact that I work in a museum and the idea of artifacts having powers is awesome). However our girls just don't get enough airtime - luckily we have fanfic!

Basically this is a Season Four redux. Everything up until the end of A New Hope happened – Steve died, Sykes' bomb blew up the Warehouse and H.G. sacrificed herself to save Myka (I know Pete and Artie were there too but I believe she was really just doing it to save Myka). Then Artie reset everything using the astrolabe. However from this point on I am taking it entirely off-canon. It's still the Warehouse we all love so much, but let's face it, there isn't enough H.G. in season 4!

It's going to be long, angsty and darker than the show itself because that's the story I want to tell – but it's also going to be sexier...eventually! There will be occasional bad language and sex between two consenting adults (eventually). It is rated M for a reason.

I sincerely hope that you enjoy it if this is your cup of tea. Feedback is most welcome for comments, questions etc.

Non omnis moriar  
Not all of me shall die

(Horace, Odes)

**Chapter One – The Healing Power of Cookies**

The first thing she saw was an odd sort of blue light swirling in front of her eyes. She expected it to be insubstantial but when her fingers absently drifted towards it, they encountered a surface that was as solid as a pane of glass – even more so. Agent Myka Bering stared at it for a few moments longer, trying to make sense of it and work out why she was encased in it. There were others trapped within the small space too, but she had a sense of two individuals so incredibly familiar that she didn't need to turn around to know that it was Pete and Artie. Instead it was the figure standing beyond the light that Myka's gaze came to rest on. For some reason there was a soft smile on the face of Helena G. Wells, her dark eyes sparkling with an emotion Myka couldn't recognise.

"You should be safe now," she says with a certainty that only Helena can muster.

Myka frowned, not understanding what was happening. All she knew was that she was behind some sort of impenetrable barrier. From Helena's words and her own instincts, she deduced that it was preferable to be standing inside the barrier. If she was safe, then that meant Helena was not. Her heart nearly stopped beating. "But you are… you're out there." The words sounded hollow to her own ears.

"It had to be initiated from outside the barrier," Helena replied in an infuriatingly calm voice. Myka found herself unable to tear her gaze away from the other woman as she tried to make sense out of what was happening. Helena's lips moved, almost imperceptibly mouthing the words, "Thank you." A dazzling smile then took over her face.

Myka was driven to respond in kind, but her own tremulous smile barely masked the disbelief she felt at what was happening. "I smell apples," Helena said with an air of finality.

Myka found herself disagreeing with the assumption that everything was over. This time her fingers formed into a fist that she rammed against the barrier as though her determination would be enough to shatter it. There was no way in hell she was letting Helena sacrifice her life to save hers - not without having some sort of say in it.

The blue light in front of her eyes was bright, but it was nothing compared to the explosion that suddenly erupted behind Helena. The flames were swift and ravenous, consuming everything in their path. In an instant, the woman standing in front of her was gone as well.

"Helena!"

The shout died abruptly on Myka's lips as she sat up with a jerk. Her heart was pounding so hard it threatened to tear itself from her chest. Early morning light filtered through the gaps in her curtains. This was her own bed, she was in her own room at Leena's B & B. Seeing H.G. Wells die right in front of her had been nothing more than a nightmare. Although a part of Myka wanted to flop back down onto her feather pillows straight away, she knew her alarm would be going off at any moment. Besides, it was only a dream. There had been no strange barrier, no explosion, and Helena – wherever the hell The Regents had taken her – was very much alive. _Then where did all of that come from?_ Myka thought as she swung her legs over the side of the bed. "It felt so real," she whispered aloud to herself. Doing her best to shove the nightmare to the back of her mind, Myka grabbed a towel and headed for the shower. She hoped a blast of cold water would reinvigorate her sluggish body.

* * *

An insistently pounding headache was already claiming the space between Myka's ears for its own as she sat down to start work for the day. The inventory ledger lay open in front of her on the exact page she had left it the day before. She was beginning to hate that book – a sentiment normally reserved for the works of hack authors who churned out never-ending pages of crap that defied all logic by becoming bestsellers. Her hatred for this particular book stemmed from the fact that she had stared at it, and similar books, each day for the past two weeks. Since Walter Sykes' attempt to destroy the Warehouse had been thwarted, Artie had decided that they all needed a period of light duties. Unfortunately 'light duties' consisted of checking and re-checking inventories to confirm that no other artifacts were missing or misplaced. It was light, but tedious in the extreme...and it was bringing out the worst in Myka. She was becomingly increasingly irritable, and thoroughly depressed as each day passed. It was only a matter of time before her frayed nerves snapped.

There was a loud crash from the other side of the room. Myka's head jerked up to see Pete with a pile of books lying at his feet. He met her gaze and seemed to brace himself for the inevitable lecture about the proper handling of books. However Myka just stared blandly for a few moments and went back to her inventory. A few moments later, someone blocked the already fairly weak light shining onto her page. With an exasperated sigh, she removed her glasses and scrubbed at her eyes.

"Anyone would think that Sykes had won and blown the Warehouse into smithereens," Pete commented as he jauntily perched on the edge of the table she was working at. He held a bag of cookies towards her but she shook her head. He shrugged and claimed one for himself.

"What do you mean?" Myka hadn't intended to take Pete's bait, but she suspected that unless she answered him, he wouldn't leave her alone.

"You are no fun whatsoever," Pete said with his mouth full. "All you do is sit here and check that damn inventory, all day, every day. Did you even stop for lunch yesterday?"

"This is very important work!" Myka protested. She didn't want to tell Pete that she didn't dare give herself a moment's peace to actually sit and think about anything that wasn't work. "Anyway, since when was I ever fun?"

"Since, like, always! There's more to life than work," Pete suggested helpfully.

"What, like cookies and comic books?" Myka commented bitterly.

Pete shrugged, unconcerned by Myka's tone. "Whatever floats your boat. You've totally dissed the benefits of cookie goodness and I know for a fact that you're not the slightest bit interested in my _Fantastic Four_ back catalogue. Go do whatever you do…read a book...or something."

"Fantastic who? You know what, nevermind, Pete," Myka held up her hands in a sort of surrender. "Thanks but no thanks for the cookie. I'm pretty busy here so if you'd kindly just leave me alone I promise I'll try to stop giving off miserable vibes."

"Miserable vibes? Mykes, if your vibes were radioactive then everything and everyone in this building would be in serious danger of a messy, painful death. "Pete shovelled the last of his cookie into his mouth, giving it only a cursory chew before continuing, "Oo eed oo go on ate."

Myka threw him a glacial stare of disapproval as she looked up from the catalogue in front of him. "Okay, I speak five languages and I had no idea what you just said. On second thoughts, do I even want to know?"

Pete's mouth worked furiously, completely masticating the unfortunate cookie into a gooey pulp so he could swallow it. Trying to ignore the revolting sounds her partner was making with his open mouth was impossible. Myka impatiently tapped her pen against the table, hoping the insistent repetition would remind Pete that she had work to do and she had already asked him to leave her alone once.

With a determined gulp, Pete emptied his mouth of cookie and stared down at Myka. "I said you need to go on a date...get away from the Warehouse for a bit. I mean, I know we're pretty fantastic and all, but I think you need to meet some new people."

Myka's eyes narrowed. "Oh really?"

"Look at the people you spend all your waking moments with...we're not exactly upstanding role models. Some of us, not me of course, but some of us are a little crazy," Pete said. He suddenly coughed and Myka thought that she heard 'H.G.' somewhere in the guttural sound. "I just wish I knew more people in this town, I could set you up with someone."

"I don't need some man to take me on a date to cheer me up!" she protested. _Not a man at all...a woman on the other hand, one particular woman..._

As the random conversation played out in her head, Pete continued to stare at her with a bemused expression on his face. Myka finally realised that, in his customary Pete manner, he had been intentionally winding her up. She threw her pen at him – a small part of her hoping it would stab him in the eye.

It hit him in the forehead instead. "Ow!" he protested. "Lighten up a little would ya?"

Approaching footsteps warned the pair that someone else was intruding on their escalating feud. Both turned to find Artie staring at them with an odd expression that clearly revealed he was thinking something along the lines of 'what the hell?' Trailer followed at his heels, his expression was his customary one of tongue-lolling joy with life.

"Hey Artie, you're here just in time to help me convince Myka to get a date!" Pete whooped.

"I will do no such thing," he retorted swiftly as he approached them.

"Come on?" Pete pleaded hopefully. "She's all grumpy and stuff."

"Pete, leave Myka alone," Artie sighed. "For all our sakes please."

Myka didn't really hear Artie's defence, she was absently wondering what kinds of crazy delights a date with H.G. Wells would hold. By now Pete and Artie were staring at her with matching expressions – wondering what the hell had suddenly taken hold of the woman they thought they knew so well.

"Did you hit Myka in the head with something before I came in?" Artie asked.

"Hey, that was her throwing shit! I was just trying to cheer her up!" Pete protested in a wounded tone. "I don't start everything around here you know."

Artie gave Pete a knowing look before reaching into his pocket and withdrawing something that looked suspiciously like airline tickets. "Well, I've got something else that might cheer her up – a trip to LA."

"How the hell would a trip to LA cheer me up?" Myka demanded while Pete's eyes lit up with delight. Having snapped herself out of her short-lived daydream by brutally reminding herself that a date with Helena would never happen, she was in an even fouler mood than before.

"What's in LA? Ah, real people who don't loathe us on principle?" Pete suggested. "Starbucks...more Chinese restaurants than you can shake a stick at? Not to mention the world's highest concentration of comic book stores."

"And there it is," Myka scowled. "Artie, can you give me a proper answer? I thought we were being stood down from all retrievals unless absolutely urgent?"

"Well, it's not so much about the urgency of this retrieval as its simplicity. I just need you to go to this address," Artie handed Myka a piece of paper. "And pick up an object. They will be expecting you."

"And we're doing this milk run why?"

Artie bristled slightly at Myka's uncharacteristically rude tone of voice. It wasn't at all like the agent he knew so well. "Because A. it's the job you get paid to do and B. you're both starting to get on my nerves. Myka with your permanent bad attitude and-" Artie jabbed his thumb in Pete's direction. "-him winding you up."

Myka drew in a deep breath, trying to resist the urge to take her Tesla out and zap both of the smug idiots she happened to have the misfortune of working with. She glanced down at the piece of paper Artie had handed to her and read it – _1097 Costello Boulevard, Beverley Hills_. "Who lives here?" she asked Artie, managing to sound far calmer than she felt.

"I think the question you're actually looking for is who lived there," Artie pointed out. "It was the home of JA Larsen."

"Since when is JA Larsen dead?" Pete asked in disbelief.

"Who is JA Larsen," was Myka's only question.

Pete turned to stare at her as though she was profoundly stupid. "Only one of the greatest B-movie actors of the 70s. _Land of the Scuba Cretins_, _Attack of the Swamp Frogs _and the sequel,_ Revenge of the Swamp Frogs_?" Myka shook her head and Pete continued incredulously, "I can't believe you've never heard of him. Even you should-"

"Mr Larsen died of a heart attack early yesterday evening," Artie informed them, interrupting Pete's own attempt at an explanation. "He was caretaker of an artifact, one which needed to be retrieved in the event of his death. Now that he is dead, I need you two to go to LA, retrieve the artifact and bring it back. Do you think you can manage that?"

"What does it look like?"

Artie passed over a picture. Myka studied it to see a very ordinary looking class-ring. Still, in her time at the warehouse she had learned that just because something looked ordinary, it did not mean it was. Myka felt a small sense of possibility. Perhaps a trip away from the Warehouse would do her a world of good.

She pushed back her chair and crossed the short distance to Artie so she could snatch the airline tickets out of his hand. "Come on, Captain Fantastic, let's get this over with before I change my mind and make you take Claudia instead."

"You know what, I might take you up on that suggestion," Pete mumbled as he threw Artie a tortured look and followed Myka out the door.

* * *

"I can't believe I'm actually standing outside JA Larsen's house," Pete said reverently as he and Myka ascended the short flight of steps leading up to the sprawling Mission-revival style home. "I mean, _Shadow of the Drooling Zombies_ has got to be one of my favourite films of all time. JA played this guy whose family was murdered by the drooling zombies..."

It was relatively easy for Myka to ignore Pete's enthusiastic ranting as she had absolutely no interest in what he was saying. She was already anxious to get out of LA as soon as possible. Usually she enjoyed an opportunity to get away from the Warehouse, but today she felt no passion for her job. As soon as leaving Univille, all she wanted was to get the current task over and done with so she could return home again. Checking inventories wasn't exactly her idea of fun, but as long as she was in the Warehouse she felt closer to Helena.

Myka drew in a breath to steady herself and jammed her finger against the door bell. As her hand fell back to her side, her fingers subconsciously clenched into a tight fist. For some reason the pain of her nails digging into the palm of her hand was satisfying. It served as a reminder that life was supposed to be painful. The likelihood of ever being able to have the things you wanted was so slim that Myka wondered why she continued to care so much.

Pete's chatter remained consigned to the background as she waited for someone to answer the door. She was about to ring the bell a second time when the door opened. The man who stood on the other side of the threshold regarded them both with a resigned expression. He was an older man, probably in his sixties, and dignifiedly handsome. Within his steely blue eyes lay a profound depression with which Myka felt an instant affinity. She managed a friendly smile but before she could open her mouth he spoke.

"Jerry said someone would come," he offered up in a quiet voice. "Would you like to step inside?"

"Thank you, Mr?"

"Brooker, Luke Brooker."

"I'm Agent Bering and this is Agent Lattimer," Myka introduced them both. "Are you a member of Mr Larsen's family?"

He shrugged in reply as he ushered them in. "Well I suppose so, Jerry was my partner."

"Partner as in...JA Larsen was gay?" Pete exclaimed as they stepped inside. Myka threw him a horrified expression but he could only wince belatedly. It was already out there.

"Yeah, he was, we were together thirty-one years. You got anything to say about that?" Luke bristled angrily, obviously prepared to defend his relationship.

Pete shook his head quickly. "No, of course not. I was just...I mean, it's just really sad...that he couldn't come out. I'm a huge fan and I never knew."

Luke shook his head. "It was a different time back then. Of course things have changed a bit now but we were so used to keeping things on the down low that we didn't bother to change the way we lived. Jerry was always talking about it, maybe telling his fans at one of those conventions he was always going to but he never did get around to it. Damn heart attack robbed him of the chance," Luke sighed wistfully and continued. "Damn shame too, he was a real good guy, real good, he coulda done a lot of good. Anyways, you people didn't come hear to listen to an old guy like me, you've come to take his ring. Follow me."

Luke Brooker led Pete and Myka further into the house he had shared with his partner. Everything was immaculately tidy, if a little odd. Nothing quite matched, not the furniture or the colour schemes. It was as though the pieces had been chosen on their individual aesthetics as opposed to how well they would fit with the overall décor. Myka liked it almost immediately; there was something incredibly comfortable and welcoming about it. Pete was gazing intently at the walls, most of which were covered in framed movie posters from JA's films. As Myka dutifully followed Luke down into a large living room overlooking a pool, she noticed Pete was no longer at her side. She turned to find he had stopped in the dining room.

"Pete!" she hissed angrily. "Pete!"

Pete was grinning from ear to ear as he stared at a poster for _Shadow of the Drooling Zombies_. He simply turned to Myka and pointed excitedly at the poster, without making any attempt whatsoever at discretion.

"Pete!" Myka made an angry beckoning motion with her hand.

It was too late, Luke had already noticed his unruly house guest. He turned but did not seem to mind. Instead he smiled. "I never did like that one, the zombies always scared the bejesus out of me. Why don't you take it with you?"

"He doesn't need it-" Myka began, trying to apologise.

"You bet I need it!" Pete interrupted. "This would be the perfect addition to the Pete cave!"

"I'm really sorry, Mr Brooker," Myka sighed. "He really doesn't need much encouragement to misbehave."

Luke simply chuckled. "Nonsense, everyone should misbehave, regardless of their age. You should try it once in a while, Agent Bering."

Pete joined in on the laugh. "Myka, misbehave? Yeah, I don't think that will be happening anytime soon. The lady is seriously uptight if you know what I mean."

Myka whirled on Pete. "Just exactly what do you mean, Pete?"

"Hey, job at hand here," Pete changed the subject.

As the partners had been bickering, Luke had retrieved a small box from a safe on the wall. He waited until he once again had Myka's attention before handing it over. She noticed a trace of reluctance, his hand lingered on the box before relinquishing it.

"I'm really sorry to have to take this away. I should imagine it was special to him."

Luke nodded. "It was, but so are dozens of other things that I still have. Besides, he always told me that the ring wasn't ever really his. He was only looking after it. Never told me why or who for and I didn't ask. It was sort of strange though. In the days before he died he was really protective over it – always staring at it. One day when he was sort of stroking it he asked me if he'd done something worthwhile with his life. Of course I told him he had – he made a lot of people happy over the years. When I found him lying out by the pool yesterday, it was clutched in his fist."

Myka felt a sense of reluctance when she and Pete left JA Larsen's house and caught a taxi back to the airport. She liked Mr Brooker, and despite his assurances that he had a lot of friends looking out for him, she sensed that their company had been welcome. They'd stayed for a cool drink, long enough for Pete to pester the poor man with dozens of questions about JA and his movies. Thankfully, Luke had relished the chance to tell humorous stories about his partner. It was only the prospect of missing their flight that dragged Pete away, his new poster held proudly in his arms.

Myka tried to tell him that he'd not be allowed to take it on the plane but in the end all it had taken was a few choice Pete-phrases to the young woman on the check-in counter.

Myka spent most of the flight feeling the weight of the ring in her pocket. "What do you suppose this ring does?" she asked Pete eventually.

He shrugged. "Dunno, suppose Artie'll tell us at some stage. Mykes, guess what."

"What?"

"I got a poster!"

"Yeah I know. I was there when you took it off the wall and did a little dance," Myka reminded him. "And when you practically crawled across the counter and kissed that woman so you could get it on the plane."

"I know, I'm just so excited! An original 1973 one sheet. I can't wait to show Clauds and Artie."

"Somehow I really don't think they're going to care," Myka pointed out rather heartlessly.

Her lack of enthusiasm only bolstered Pete's good mood. "I sense a viewing of _Shadow of the Drooling Zombies_ coming up in your immediate future, Agent Bering. And you're gonna love it!"

* * *

Myka walked into the B & B's living room that evening - fluffy slippers on her feet and book tucked under her arm. At the sound of approaching footsteps, Pete immediately looked up from the comic book he was reading. His face fell when he saw who it was. An open bag of cookies sat on the couch beside him and crumbs were liberally strewn across the front of his t-shirt. He looked slightly nervous, as though expecting her to launch herself across the room and scratch his eyes out for no reason other than that she was pissed off about something. With a discreet swipe, Pete brushed most of the crumbs off himself and onto the floor. Keeping her movements as calm and non-threatening and possible, Myka took up a position on the couch opposite. She swung her feet up onto the couch and flipped open the book with renewed determination.

Although it was usually effortless to lose herself in the pages of good prose, tonight she found it difficult to concentrate. The words didn't leap out of the page and she often found herself having to read the same paragraph twice as she lost her place. Still she persevered. Myka clung to the belief that if she could at least rediscover one of her happy places, then she would be able to push Helena G. Wells to the back of her mind – even for an hour or so at a time. Gradually the familiar rhythm began to take over as the story took hold. A small smile even started to tug at the corners of Myka's lips. Despite being recommended by Claudia, the book was actually quite good. For some reason the couch was even more comfortable than usual and her feet were almost criminally warm encased within her fluffy slippers. It was almost as though life was back to normal.

"This is nice isn't it?" Pete's voice shattered the fragile silence like nails down a chalkboard. "You, me, enjoying each other's company?"

"Pete," Myka said in a low voice.

"Yeah?" Pete grinned happily, not realising what he had just done.

"Don't."

"Wha-"

"Just don't."

With an expression like a wounded puppy, Pete practically dived back into his comic. For added comfort, he plucked a cookie out of the bag at his side and began eating it – albeit in an unusually silent manner. He even kept his mouth shut whilst chewing.

The silence restored, Myka attempted to rediscover her previous state of contentment. However it proved an even bigger challenge than before. Over the next half an hour her eyes had trouble focusing on the pages in front of her. When she realised that she had only managed to properly read three pages, she gave up and her head flopped back against the couch in exasperation. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Pete look up at her, but after her curt words to him earlier he wasn't about to ask what was wrong. Myka's eyes wandered in the direction of the hallway and she noticed Mrs Frederic talking to Leena. At first it was only a fleeting glance in their direction. She wasn't ordinarily in the habit of staring at people (unless it was a lengthy, discreet examination of the enigmatic H.G Wells) and the scene itself was perfectly normal. However as she went back to her book, a thought nagged at the back of her mind. Despite a rather uncharacteristic protest from Artie, Helena had been taken into custody in the wake of the Sykes drama. There had been some assurances that there was no Janus Coin or Bronzer in the disgraced former agent's future, but Myka still had no idea where Helena was. If anyone did aside from The Regents, it would be Mrs Frederic. With wanton disregard for the integrity of the book in her hand, Myka tossed it onto the couch and hurried out of the sitting room. At the other end of the hall, Mrs Frederic was giving Leena a parting nod.

Myka accosted her before she could take another step. "Mrs Frederic?"

"Myka?" the stately woman seemed slightly surprised, probably at the twin spots of colour in Myka's cheeks. "To what do I owe this pleasure?"

"IneedtoseeHelena." The request was barely comprehensible, blurted out before Myka could actually consider the implications of what she was asking. With Mrs Frederic's rather bemused expression prompting her, she drew in a deep breath and slowed herself down. "I need to see Helena...please?"

"Why do you need to see Miss Wells, Agent Bering?"

It was a predictable response to her request, one for which Myka was completely unprepared. As her mouth worked soundlessly, a myriad of responses went off in her head like a bag of popping candy. They ranged from the relatively simple and unhelpful 'because I need to' to the mortifyingly embarrassing 'I need to find out why I want to throw myself at her each time I lay eyes on her.' As wise as Mrs Frederic was, Myka didn't want to hear her try to explain how someone who had thought of themselves as straight their entire lives, could suddenly be sexually attracted to a woman.

"I want to thank her...she saved my life when Sykes forced me into the chess lock in the Regent's Sanctum – I mean, when Helena forced me into the lock under Sykes' control. "_Babbling again, Bering. Sort yourself out or_ _she's going to get suspicious. _"She solved the puzzle and saved my life. With everything that was going on around us, I didn't get the chance to say thank you."

As Myka wilted under Mrs Frederic's scrutiny, she had the sinking suspicion that the woman's uncanny ability to pick up on vibes – much like Pete's – was telling her that she hadn't explained the whole truth.

_Come on, Mrs Frederic_, Myka thought, resisting the urge to tap her foot impatiently on the floor. _You don't want to know about all the things I imagine doing with Helena, just say yes dammit._

"If you write her a letter, I will see that it is delivered safely to Miss Wells," Mrs Frederic finally announced.

"A letter?" Myka blurted out before she could stop herself.

"Yes, a letter. Is there a problem with that suggestion?" Mrs Frederic arched an eyebrow.

"Um, not at all," Myka said as she shook her head quickly. At that moment in time, she desperately wanted to possess an artifact that would enable her to disappear through the floorboards. "I...I was just hoping to be able to thank her in person."

"I will put in a request for permission, Myka," Mrs Frederic replied, not unkindly, "But in the meantime, a letter will have to suffice."

Myka nodded in reluctant acceptance. She sighed in defeat as she watched the Caretaker walk away. It had most definitely not been the outcome she was hoping for, nor did she expect to be able to explain anything of how she actually felt in the letter. A. she balked at the mere thought of committing previously unspoken admissions to paper and B. no doubt wherever Helena was being kept, they would read her mail. Her cheeks flamed at the thought of a stranger reading her confession – in fact, her cheeks flamed even more fiercely at the thought of Helena reading it.

_Somebody shoot me now_, Myka thought miserably as she re-entered the living room to claim her spot on the couch. Although she opened her novel, Myka did not start reading. Instead she inwardly made a determined promise to herself. She would write that letter, it wouldn't reveal anything of course, but when the time came and she was allowed to see Helena she would hold nothing back. It would all be laid bare, every confusing feeling, every iota of attraction. Helena would know exactly how she felt and they would either be able to work things out together, or she could spend the rest of her life avoiding her and knowing that she had at least tried.

"Pete?" Myka asked quietly.

Pete glanced up from the comic in front of him. He looked slightly suspicious in response to Myka's relatively innocuous tone. "Yes, o grumpy one?"

"Give me a fucking cookie...please."


	2. A Prison of her own Design

**Chapter Two – A Prison of Her Own Design**

"Myka?"

The headache she'd managed to shake after returning from LA had returned with a vengeance. Myka allowed herself a few moments with her head in her hands, blocking out all light from her eyes to give herself some respite. She already knew the cause – another miserable night's sleep. After hours of tossing and turning, she'd managed only a few hours and those had been interrupted by the same nightmare that had plagued her the night before. How many times did she have to watch Helena burn in front of her?

"Myka?"

The voice finally registered and she looked up to see Artie standing in the doorway, staring at her with an even deeper furrow to his already wrinkled brow.

"Sorry Artie, did you say something?" Myka asked.

"Only Good Morning...I thought perhaps you were in some sort of artifact-induced trace with your glassy eyes and vacant stare."

"Oh, it's just a headache. Sorry Artie, Good Morning," Myka said as she reached for the bottle of water sitting in front of her. She popped the top and took a long swallow. "How are you?"

He shrugged and nodded at the same time. "Fine. No need to ask how you are, you look dreadful."

The Warehouse's young tech genius, Claudia Donovan, also briefly looked up from where she sat at her computer on the other side of the office. She nodded quickly in agreement before diving back into her own work. Aside from a nondescript greeting earlier that morning, she hadn't said a word to Myka. Usually she would have demanded to be filled in on all aspects of her and Pete's trip to LA, however Myka suspected that Pete had since warned Claudia not to risk speaking to her on account of her temper. Myka sighed, she was starting to feel incredibly lonely at work. Pete, Claudia...soon even Artie and Trailer would be avoiding her.

"I'll try and look less dreadful in future," Myka promised half-heartedly. She had no desire to elaborate further on her nightmares and the reasons behind them. As well-meaning as Artie was, she wasn't prepared to fill him in on her obsession with H.G. Wells. A quick change of subject was needed. "Artie...the ring we retrieved from LA, you never mentioned what it does?"

"Let me show you instead." Artie beckoned her to follow him with a wave of his hand. "I think you could probably do with a break."

Unused to him being so forthcoming, Myka stood up and dutifully followed him out of the office. He led her into the next room. She frowned slightly, wondering why they had come into the filing room as opposed to the quarantine where newly acquired artifacts were usually kept in preparation for cataloguing and storage. Artie crossed to a small safe in the corner, an item of furniture Myka had not noticed being present in the room the last time she had been in there.

"Is that new?" she asked as Artie crouched in front of it.

"New? Hardly. It's J. Edgar Hoover's safe," Artie explained as he carefully twirled the dial. "Knowing the combination isn't enough. If effectively opens only for its owner. Thankfully since coming into the Warehouse it seems to have recognised me in that capacity." He then gave the safe's handle a firm tug. It remained stuck fast. "Unfortunately it's a little capricious." Finally, after several increasingly violent tugs to the point where Artie was turning red in the face, the safe opened unexpectedly. Artie stumbled backwards, lucky not to fall on his backside.

Myka couldn't suppress a small snort of amusement. "Maybe it just has a sense of humour?"

Artie gave her a level stare as he composed himself. "Myka, it belonged to J. Edgar Hoover, it's incapable of having a sense of humour." He then reached into its depths and withdrew the same box she remembered receiving from Luke Brooker a few days earlier.

"Why is the ring even being kept in a safe?" Myka asked as Artie straightened up. "Surely we should be tagging, cataloguing and finding a permanent home for it in the collection."

Artie raised his finger to make his point. "Ah, but the Warehouse isn't its permanent home. Go on, take the box, open it."

With some amount of trepidation, Myka accepted the box from Artie. She stared down at it for a few moments, before glancing up and realising that Artie was hovering over her with a look of expectation on his face. It only served to make her even more nervous, wondering if this was some sort of trick. The pause lasted only a moment or so, Artie had never been predisposed towards practical jokes so it was highly unlikely he would joke around with an artifact...Pete did not share the same level of restraint . With a quiet intake of breath she slowly flipped the box's lid open. The ring lay nestled inside.

"Why don't you put it on?" he suggested.

Myka raised her eyebrows out of surprise and concern. "Artie, I can't just put it on..."

"Go on, I'm actually giving you permission," Artie urged. "I need you to understand what it does, just in case it ever crops up again in the future."

Myka reluctantly plucked the ring out of its box and cautiously slid it onto her index finger. Despite the fact that it had previously been owned by a man, it fit her perfectly. Even after only a few moments wearing it, the ring felt as though it had always been there. She waited for something out of the ordinary to occur – for her hand to sprout an extra finger, or the ability to see through walls to manifest suddenly. However a minute passed and absolutely nothing happened. She shrugged at Artie but he seemed unperturbed by her lack of reaction. Instead he picked up the first piece of reading material that came to hand – a copy of the Warehouse's filing manual. He flicked it open and held out the first page so Myka could see it.

"Translate the first paragraph into Latin."

"My English to Latin has never been that good," she said modestly. However, as soon as she looked at the page, it seemed as though the words and sentences were translating themselves. With barely a pause, she began speaking aloud in perfect, albeit very formal, Latin. When she reached the end of the paragraph, she had to ask herself whether that had really happened. "Okay, that was weird. Artie, I shouldn't have been able to do that so quickly…"

"But you would have been able to do it," he pointed out.

"Of course," Myka agreed readily. "But it would have taken me several minutes, at the very least." She stared down at the ring innocuously nestled on her finger. "It improves your intelligence?"

"It would seem at first glance...but it's actually far more complex. The artifact takes something that you can do well, in your case the ability to speak Latin, and enhances it. If I had asked you to speak Swahili or dance a foxtrot, it would be of absolutely no use whatsoever."

Myka pouted a little. "How do you know I can't dance a foxtrot?"

"Can you?"

"Well...no..."

"Point made," Artie smiled a little. "So you could see what this little guy does...and how it could also be dangerous if it fell into the wrong hands. Someone with powerful skills of persuasion, or a weapon designer, or someone who happened to be particularly talented at murder."

"That's what we're here for," Myka pointed out. "The whole reason behind the Warehouse is to house artifacts that could potentially be misused if they were allowed to remain out in the wider world."

"The problem is that the ring won't stay in the Warehouse. Unlike most artifacts it cannot remain un-tethered from an individual. We could waste our time cataloguing and housing it, but you'd only go back to that exact location a week or a month later to find that was gone. Better for its wearer to be chosen as opposed to leaving it up to the whims of the artifact itself. From past history, it has the tendency to seek out powerful individuals...Napoleon managed to get his hands on it and he conquered half of Europe."

"Who owned it originally?"

Artie shrugged. "That's the odd thing about this particular artifact's history, it has changed hands so many times that its original owner has been lost. We do have a partial list, Shakespeare…Bach, Jeremy Bentham….Darwin, Renoir. Since the turn of the twentieth century, the ring's ownership has been closely regulated by The Regents."

"If it's that old, then why does it look like a class ring?"

"I think the question you're actually trying to ask is why all class rings look like that one." Artie pointed out. "If you'll look at it closely, you'll find that the writing on it has absolutely nothing to do with any educational institution…and that's a genuine ruby set into the centre."

Myka peered down at the lettering running around the diameter of the ruby. "It's Latin. Non omnis moriar. It means 'not all of me shall die.' I'm still struggling to understand how it ended up in the hands of an actor."

Artie shrugged. "From what Pete tells me, he was pretty good at what he did. Why shouldn't it end up in the hands of an actor?"

Myka shrugged, far be it for her to question the wisdom of The Regents. Perhaps they enjoyed movies with titles like _Attack of the Drooling Frogs_, or whatever JA's movies had actually been called. "So I guess this particular piece needs a new owner."

"It already has one," Artie pointed out casually. "Or at least, a temporary one."

Myka's eyes widened in shock. "Artie, I'm not looking after an artifact, no matter how useful it is for conjugating Latin verbs. Do I not get any say in the matter?"

Artie looked at her sternly. "You want me to give it to Pete? Enhance his ability to perform feats of gastric eruption?" When Myka winced at the memory of one of Pete's 'gastric eruptions' escaping whilst trapped in an elevator he nodded and continued, "Thought so. Just think of it as another part of the job. Besides, it should come in handy – you'll be an even better version of Myka Bering."

"Sure...thanks, Artie," Myka said uncertainly.

"Just don't take it off."

"Anything else?" Myka asked wearily as she followed him from the room. "Prolonged exposure will cause the growth of chest hair? Sudden fits of verbal diarrhea?"

"Nope, just don't take it off," Artie said quietly as they moved back into their office. "It should only be for a week or so at the most, until The Regents decide on a new Holder – my money's on Lady Gaga."

"Who?" Myka asked. As soon as Artie opened his mouth she shook her head. "On second thoughts, never mind."

"Myka...your headache, do you need anything? A few days off perhaps. You could probably do-"

Myka shook her head quickly to interrupt him and Artie wisely chose not to press the issue. The last thing she needed was more time on her own for self-reflection and torture. Until she had the opportunity to see Helena and work things out between them, she wanted to keep her mind as busy as possible. Still, she was touched by Artie's concern. Usually the gruff Warehouse Director would be the last person to tell her to take time off work.

"I'll be fine, thanks anyway though, Artie," she replied, even managing a smile.

While Artie disappeared in the direction of the stairs leading down to the Warehouse floor, Myka sat back in her chair and picked up her pen. She did not make any attempt to resume her work. Her gaze wandered pensively to the empty chair that Pete had been sitting in for the past few weeks – or rather the chair that Pete had occasionally sat in when he was actually concentrating on work. An unbidden smile crossed her lips at the open bag of cookies left sitting there. With an abrupt decision, she threw down her pen and stood up. Claudia looked up from her computer at the sound of Myka's chair scraping along the floorboards.

"Clauds, do you know where Pete is?" Myka asked.

"No," was her rather terse reply. Almost immediately her eyes went back to her screen and she began typing in rapid, staccato bursts.

Myka's eyes narrowed, unless she was mistaken there was an underlying hint of guilt in the younger woman's voice. "Come on, I know you know where he is."

Claudia stopped typing and turned her gaze to Myka, giving her an appraising stare as though trying to determine her colleague's intentions. "Dude's hiding from you."

Myka winced, she thoroughly deserved that. She nodded dejectedly. "I thought he might be."

"It would be a total betrayal of trust for me to tell you where he's at," Claudia continued warily. She then pursed her lips together thoughtfully before continuing. "But...say if I was convinced you were looking for him purely for the sake of doing some major grovelling, then I might think about it."

As Claudia was talking, Myka had a sudden thought. "He's in the Pete-cave isn't he?"

"No, that's far too obvious," Claudia replied a little too quickly. "Why would he be there? The Pete-cave, ha! What a stupid place to hide."

Notwithstanding the fact that it was Pete they were talking about, Myka did not feel the need to make a comment in response to Claudia's panicked statement. "Thanks," she said, leaving the hacker behind to smack herself over the forehead in anticipation of incurring Pete's wrath.

As she made her way to the end of the motorcycle aisle, Myka realised that she ought to have explained to Claudia that she was indeed seeking Pete out so she could grovel in every sense of the word. However hopefully the younger woman would figure it out when she saw that the partners were back to their jovial old selves. _That's slightly optimistic, Bering_, she thought to herself. _Pete has every right to be mad at you for a really long time. It's Pete though. How much of a grudge can he hold?_

Her question was answered when she reached the Pete-cave a few minutes later. The door was open and Pete was inside working on the large whiteboard that he had begun using to help him visualise his thoughts. At the sound of her approaching footsteps, Pete looked over his shoulder. He gave her only a cursory glance before turning his attention back to the board in front of him. _Okay, he's still pissed._

"Pete?" Myka ventured quietly. "Do you mind if come in?"

He turned and narrowed his eyes. "It depends, Agent Bering. Are you armed with any throwing implements? Pens? Cream Pies? Knives? On second thought, a cream pie would be really nice." As he continued his eyes glazed over slightly and his face took on a wistful expression.

"Pete, I've come to apologise."

"Lemon meringue or custard is the only really question," Pete continued.

"Pete?" Myka folded her arms across her chest. "I said I want to apologise."

Her partner finally turned his attention away from his daydreams and back to her. "Huh? Did you say something?"

"That I'm here to apologise," Myka repeated for the third time.

Pete nodded sagely. "Yeah, I heard you the first time. I just wanted to hear you say it a few more times, you know, really let the word 'apologise' roll off your tongue. Proceed...and you'd better make it good, Bering."

"To put it bluntly, I've been nothing short of a bitch – to Artie and Claudia as well, but mostly I've been a bitch to you," Myka said with genuine emotion in her voice. Pete was her partner, and she knew for a fact that he would do anything for her. His efforts to cheer her up had come with only the sincerest intentions. "I feel terrible, for the pen incident...but mostly for making you feel as though you have to avoid me and that's the last thing I want. I need you around me, Pete...probably not all the time because we need our alone time to you know, do alone stuff, but I need you."

Pete regarded her with an exceptionally serious expression on his face. Just when Myka thought he wasn't going to accept her apology, his face broke into a grin. "You need me?"

The grin was infectious, Myka's own lips curled upwards almost immediately. "Yeah, I do."

Before she could make a move or say anything further, she was surprised as Pete surged forward and wrapped her in a firm hug. She resisted a little at first, before giving up and just letting herself be hugged. It felt fantastic to just finally let her body relax and fall into someone else's arms – even if that person did smell slightly of burritos.

"I love you, you know that don't you, Mykes?" he asked quietly. "Strictly platonically of course, so sorry, there's no Pete-goodness in your future."

Myka nodded into his shoulder and suppressed a snort of laughter. She wasn't sure what exactly 'Pete goodness' was, but she was quite sure that she didn't want any of it. "Yeah, I do." When she drew back there were unshed tears hovering in her eyes. At that point in time a part of her felt like she could tell him the reason behind her rampaging emotions over the past few weeks. However the sensible part was worried that the conversation would not go down particularly well.

"_Pete, I'm in love with H.G. Wells."_

"_Would this be the same H.G. Wells who tried to destroy the world with a giant fork? Myka, you're just as crazy as she is – since world-ending tendencies are such an attractive quality in a potential girlfriend. And while we're at it, let's just think on the word girlfriend for a moment – you like girls, this is an interesting new development, one we should definitely discuss further." _

"_Not girls plural, Pete, just one woman."_

"_One particular hundred and fifty year old woman who happens to be completely cuckoo. Okay, I get that she's hot...really, really hot...and I totally fell for it the first time I saw her...but that was a few minutes before she jammed a tesla under my chin and then stuck us both to the ceiling! Combine that with her giant fork antics and voila! Not good girlfriend material!"_

Scrubbing discreetly at her eyes, she walked over to Pete's whiteboard to change the subject. "So, what are you working on? Anything I can help with?"

"I've pretty much finished, come look...it's taken me most of the day," Pete said with an intense level of enthusiasm in his voice. He began pointing to a series of crudely drawn symbols. "So _Prometheus_ – when I saw it I was like seriously, what the fuck is going on here? I mean you've got these humans who go to find these aliens and then a whole lot of weird shit happens that creates capital 'A' aliens. So my chart maps it all out." Pete pointed to the first pictogram, "So space jockey plus gooey black gunk equals normal people. However black gunk plus normal people equals...arrrggggh! Scary people. Scary people plus normal people equals-" Pete pointed to a drawing that sort of resembled a squid-like creature. "- giant squiddlies. Giant squiddlies plus space jockeys equals capital 'A' aliens...Stay away from her, you bitch!" The last part was said as though Pete was trying to attempt a slightly womanly voice, but it only sounded ridiculous. "So, what do you think?"

Myka smiled good-humouredly. "Excellent work, Pete." _Okay, I have no idea what kind of Prometheus he's talking about and space jockeys? Giant squiddlies?_

"You don't have a clue do you?" Pete asked suspiciously.

"None whatsoever," Myka readily admitted. "Do you want to grab some lunch?"

"Lunch? You betcha! What do you think we've got?"

"You saw Leena pack it this morning, sandwiches, same as always. Although I think I saw cake in there as well."

Feeling as though she could almost push Helena to the back of her mind, Myka and Pete left the Pete-cave in search of their lunch. It was an impossibility of course – the woman haunted both her waking and sleeping moments, but now that she had Pete back she was determined not to push him so far away again.

"I love you too, Pete," she mentioned quietly as they made their way back towards the office.

Pete grinned. "You're not getting any of this sugar though."

"I'm crushed, Pete, truly crushed," Myka laughed, linking her arm within his.

Myka's burgeoning good mood was stifled slightly when Mrs Frederic arrived at the Warehouse later that afternoon. She had come on official Warehouse business of course, but Myka had a Pete-like vibe that she had an answer for her request. Since handing over the letter from her sweaty palm before leaving for LA, the anticipation had quietly smouldered away at the back of her mind. A number of concerns ran through her mind, foremost among them that her request would be denied.

In typical Mrs Frederic style, Myka was made to wait until the very end of the day before the formidable woman stopped beside the desk she was working at. It was her bad luck that Pete, Artie and Claudia all happened to be sharing the same relatively small space. _Don't tell me in front of them,_ Myka fervently thought.

"Can I have a quick word, Myka?" Mrs Frederic asked softly.

Myka was well aware of three pairs of eyes on her back as they made them way into the filing room. She made sure to shut the door securely behind them. Her palms were once again sweaty as she turned to face the Caretaker. Mrs Frederic's expression was as impossible to read as it usually was.

"Unfortunately your request to see Miss Wells has been denied," she said calmly.

_Denied?_ Myka rolled the word around in her mind, trying to come to terms with what it meant. Essentially, there would be no conversation with Helena, no opportunity to fathom some sort of explanation and no final resolution – at least not until The Regents decreed that she could see her. _I can't keep going like this,_ Myka thought desperately. She felt the all too familiar anger rise and despite her better judgment, it tumbled out.

"It's barbaric! You can't just lock Helena away and refuse to let anyone see her!" Myka protested, completely forgetting the fact that it was Mrs Frederic she was practically yelling at. "So she tried to destroy the world, so what, everyone deserves a second chance."

Mrs Frederic stiffened slightly, surprised by the vehemence of Myka's reaction. "Agent Bering, even ignoring the fact that Miss Wells has already been given a second chance as you put it, it was not The Regent's decision to deny your request. Nor was it mine."

_Stay calm._ Myka frowned. "Then who the hell made it?"

"It was Miss Wells herself." Myka's jaw dropped as Mrs Frederic spoke. "Contrary to your assumptions, she has not been locked away by The Regents. She is however somewhere private and until she changes her mind, I'm afraid I must respect her wish not to see anyone, you included."

_Fuck,_ was Myka's single, eloquent thought. Mrs Frederic was still looking at her expectantly and she managed to mumble "Thank you for your help." With a nod, she left Myka alone to her confusion.

A deep melancholy began to settle over her as soon as the older woman closed the door behind her. Somehow Myka fumbled for a chair and sank gratefully onto it before her legs gave out beneath her. The tears that had threatened to fall earlier whilst talking to Pete were given free reign. _You can sit here and cry as long as you need to get that damn woman out of your system, _she thought between sobs and hiccups. _But afterwards you're going to walk back out there and act as though nothing has happened_. However, as the tears continued to flow freely and her nose started running in tandem, Myka realised that she might never be able to leave the filing room.

* * *

Helena G. Wells knew that, no matter how much time she spent in the 21st Century, she would never lose her affinity for paper. The promise held in a creamy, crisp sheet of blank paper was infinitely superior to the harsh glare of computer screen with the cursor blinking impertinently. One of the other guests at the Ranch had even shown her his e-reader – a strange little device that purported to be a replacement for actual books. Helena had listened politely as he explained the tiny thing could miraculously hold hundreds of books. _If I can't smell it or feel the pages beneath my fingers, then it's not a book_, Helena had thought dismissively when he left her alone.

As she sat in the walled courtyard at the Ranch, she absently stroked a sheet of paper in her hand without looking at it. The 'Ranch' wasn't really a ranch at all. She had been in residence for almost two weeks and had not seen a single animal besides the house cat which she avoided on principle. As far as Helena could tell, it was a Regent sanctuary of sorts. The other residents were an eclectic mix of individuals, most of whom did not like to mix with their fellow 'guests.' The fellow with the fake-book thing was recovering from a spell with a particularly addictive artifact. He would often get a furtive look in his eyes, and once he had descended into a screaming heap, pleading to be reunited with what had been taken from him. Thankfully that was the only incident that made her feel as though she was confined to an insane asylum. Another woman was there receiving treatment for an artifact induced illness that conventional medicine could not diagnose or treat. The only thing they had in common was that they were all outsiders of some sort. None seemed to be dangerous in any way – well, no one except her. As far as Helena could tell, she was the only resident who had actually tried to end modern civilisation.

Finally she ceased starring at the heavy brick walls hemming her in and summed up the courage to re-read the letter in her hand. The paper was thick - excellent quality – and the penmanship was painfully neat. She had already read the short note at least a dozen times, but neither the content nor the way it made her feel changed one iota.

_H.G., You had to leave so suddenly I didn't get a chance to thank you for saving my life in Hong Kong. It's not exactly the sort of thing you can properly say in a note, so I have put in a request through Mrs Frederic to see you. I sincerely hope that wherever you are has a well-stocked library, Regards, Agent Bering. _

That was it. It was so impersonal it could have been written by Pete – albeit probably with atrocious handwriting and spelling mistakes. _H.G._? _Agent Bering_? Helena finally let the note fall to the table in front of her. She was no longer holding it, but she could still see it. Since when did Myka call her H.G.? She loved the way that 'Helena' breezed through Myka's lips. She had been 'Miss Wells' in her own time, and 'H.G.' to most in her second life. However, after a relatively brief period, Myka had called her nothing but Helena. It was the sort of letter you would send to an acquaintance, not to someone who knew you better than anyone else. Her mind wouldn't let her stop at disappointment, she simply had to fathom a reason behind Myka's onset of formality.

_What exactly did you expect her to write?_ Helena asked herself scornfully. _That she misses you awfully? That she has come to the realisation that the strange look you get on your face in her presence means that you want to kiss her? You need to let go of these ridiculous notions. Myka Bering is not and will never be attracted to you in the manner you desire. _

"You don't have to remain in this dreary courtyard you know," a voice interrupted her thoughts.

Helena turned to see Hamish Byrne, the Ranch's version of Leena, step out of the house and join her in the courtyard. His middle-aged face was creased into an expression of concern.

"I know," Helena replied.

Without making too much of a show of it, she reached out and claimed the note from the table. She folded it neatly and tucked it into the pocket of her trousers. She absently reached out for the tea cup she had forgotten about. It had long since cooled to a barely palatable lukewarm, but she needed something to do with her hands lest Hamish see that they were trembling slightly.

"Was it good news?"

Helena winced, the tea truly was awful. She quickly set it down. "I beg your pardon?"

"The letter, was it good news?"

"Oh...well..." Helena's voice trailed off weakly. It had not really been news at all despite the fact that there were a million things her curious mind wished to know. Had Sykes tampered with any other artifacts in the Warehouse? How was young Claudia coping with the death of Agent Jinks? Was Myka really as good a kisser as she imagined her to be? With those gorgeous lips, she was no doubt extremely talented in that respect...Helena felt an instant heat in her cheeks, no doubt a flush of red was creeping across her pale cheeks. She turned her head away slightly. "It was just a brief communication from the Warehouse, nothing of any consequence."

When she looked up again a minute or so later, Hamish was regarding her with a resigned expression on his face. For a moment he looked up at the walls surrounding them both, and then back to her face.

"I know why you like sitting out here," he commented quietly.

"It is quiet-" Helena began to reply.

He interrupted her with a shake of his head. "No, that's not it at all. The walls, they make you feel like you are in a prison - where you believe you belong."

Uncharacteristically, Helena had nothing to say in reply. She had been at the Ranch for weeks, but it had only taken her a matter of minutes to realise that Hamish was uncanny perceptive. It also meant that she normally avoided private conversations with him for that very reason. It was bad enough that she was privy to her own thoughts; others did not need to be subjected to them as well.

"You know you are free to leave whenever you want." Hamish pointed it out even though Helena was fully aware that she was not a prisoner. "Do not mistake me, you are most welcome at the Ranch for as long as you want to be here, but clearly there is a life...possibly someone, out there for you."

Helena inadvertently offered up a small, sad sigh. "Mr Byrne, usually you are exceptionally intuitive...but on this occasion you are quite mistaken. There is nothing out there for me, not in this time. I do not think that there ever was."


	3. The Blind Leading the Blind

**Chapter Three – The Blind Leading the Blind**

Agent Pete Lattimer wasn't usually in the habit of knocking on women's doors – at least not for strictly platonic purposes anyway. The first strike of his knuckles was tentative, just a mere brush as opposed to a knock. He drew in a breath and rapped harder – but not so hard as to seem overly insistent. Silence was his only answer for a few seconds, however he soon heard a tired voice call out from within, inviting him in.

He found Claudia Donovan in much the same pose as she had remained at work all day - sitting at her computer, typing sporadically and looking morosely pensive the rest of the time. She swivelled in her chair and raised her eyebrows when she saw it was Pete.

"Oh hey," she said, obviously trying to inject a current of enthusiasm into her voice. "I thought you might have been Myka. What can I do ya for?"

Pete jammed his hands in his pockets in an effort to stave off feeling incredibly awkward. "I was just in the building and-"

"Pete, you live in the building. Why would you not be in the building?" Claudia asked sceptically.

"Well I was just upstairs and I thought I'd come say hi, you know, because I haven't seen you for a while," Pete said, inviting himself to take a seat on the couch beside the desk.

"You haven't seen me for a grand total of about three hours. "Oh no, wait, I saw you when I was downstairs grabbing a banana half an hour ago. You were sticking your finger in that cheesecake in the fridge. You know, the one Leena told you to leave alone because it wasn't ready yet?"

Pete winced. "You wouldn't tell on me would you?"

"Only if you don't tell me why we're having this awesomely vague conversation," Claudia said pointedly.

As Claudia waited for her answer and tapped her foot absent-mindedly against her desk, Pete's gaze drifted to the picture sitting by her computer. It was a picture of her and Steve, hamming it up for the camera with broad grins on their faces. Steven Jinks had been both Pete's partner and Claudia's best friend before being murdered by Marcus Diamond - a henchman of Walter Sykes – while undercover. While the death of the gregarious young agent had hit everyone at the Warehouse hard, Claudia was obviously affected the most. With Myka struggling with private demons of her own, Pete did not want the young woman to feel as though she did not have anyone she could talk to. The role of counsellor wasn't exactly one he relished, but his family was important to him.

Before he could open his mouth again, Claudia noticed the direction of his stare. The corners of her mouth curved upwards into a sad smile. "I still expect him to walk through the door at any moment. Then I remember that he's never coming back. It sucks and it feels as though the world has ended, or at least I want it to end -"

"Claudia," Pete interrupted in a worried tone, reading into Claudia's words that she had been contemplating suicide.

"Pete, let me finish," Claudia insisted. "Then I realise that I have people all around me, people who love me. I'll never stop missing Steve, but his death has made me realise how lucky I am. I mean, look at you Mr in-touch-with-your-feelings."

"Hey, I never said anything about touching no feelings!" Pete held up his hands in protest. His expression softened and he too smiled, just a little. "I miss Jinksy too, I guess we'll get through this together."

Claudia nodded appreciatively. A slight misty film had appeared across her eyes, and a few moments later large tears formed. She dashed them away with a swipe of her palm. "Thanks for stopping by, Pete. You should do it more often you know. I have a totally awesome couch and-" Claudia swivelled back around in her chair and shifted through an assortment of gadgets until she found what she was looking for, "-Milk Duds!" She tossed the packet to Pete who snatched it out of the air.

"Thanks, Clauds, but I'm trying to watch my figure," Pete said at first. A few moments later he grinned in response to Claudia's disbelieving expression. "Who the hell am I kidding?" Pete opened the box and poured a generous amount of candy into his palm before handing them back to Claudia. "Fanks," he said whilst munching happily.

They polished off the box of Milk Duds in companionable silence. As they chewed, Claudia couldn't help but notice that Pete continually cocked his head to one side as though listening out for someone in the hallway. Her suspicions were definitely aroused – she had a few theories as to why he was behaving in an odd manner. On one hand, Pete could have filched a slice of cheesecake and he was listening out for Leena. However the obvious theft of a dessert was far too amateur for someone of Pete's talents. Another thought was that he had done something to earn the wrath of either Artie or Mrs Frederic. That hypothesis was dismissed as well, the working day had passed without incident and Claudia was pretty sure she had heard Artie's bedroom door shut an hour ago. The only remaining possibility was that he was listening out for Myka. Now that she thought about it, Claudia didn't recall seeing the agent at all that evening – not since they had left work.

"Whatcha doin', Pete?" Claudia asked, throwing her last piece of candy into her mouth.

"Um, I'm sitting on your couch. What else am I supposed to be doing?" he asked.

Claudia narrowed her eyes. "You're looking all furtive. Something is up. Go on, spill, you know you want to."

"Myka is out...on a date, an actual date," Pete admitted relatively quickly. Given that he sounded incredibly pleased with himself, it was a secret he definitely felt the need to share. "Well, it's a blind date, which still counts as a date."

Claudia's jaw dropped. "You did what? Myka…blind date? Holy sweet mother of god, who the hell did you find in Univille to set Myka up with?"

"Owen Vincent, you know, the guy who brought out old Hank Holden's law practice a few months ago."

An image of a serious man with perfectly parted hair and kind eyes floated in Claudia's mind. She remembered meeting him at the drugstore a few weeks after he had arrived in town. She hadn't gleaned much from the brief introduction, but the gossip currently doing the round was that he had fled Minneapolis after a particularly messy divorce and was looking for a quiet life. Just about all of Univille's single women (and more than a few who weren't single) had been trying to get to know the lawyer better. Although that was the extent of her knowledge about the guy, Claudia supposed that he was a reasonable dating prospect for Myka.

"Did you bribe Myka to go on a blind date? She's not exactly the dating type, let alone a blind date...and one set up by you," Claudia pointed out.

"Hey, what do you take me for?" Pete protested. "On one hand - incredibly eligible young woman, and the other, good-looking lawyer. I was sort of surprised that she agreed, I did expect her to throw something at me when I suggested it – like she did the other day – but she said yes. Well, her exact words were 'why not' but I'll take that as a yes."

Pete cut himself short when he heard footsteps in the hallway outside. Both he and Claudia looked at each other and froze, listening intently as they tried to work out exactly who it was. Whoever it was wore heels, which ruled out Leena...and the footsteps were far too tentative to be the assertive strides of Mrs Frederic. As both came to the realisation that it could only be Myka, they scrambled to their feet and rushed for the door.

In the hallway, Myka yelped almost toppled backwards in fright when both Pete and Claudia came tumbling out of the door to Claudia's room. The agent had made an effort for her date, she was wearing an actual dress as opposed to a suit. It was plain but stunning. However the expression on her face was anything but elated. It was tired and even slightly depressed.

"Um, hi," Myka said uncertainly after straightening herself out. "Were you two lurking until I came home?"

"No," Pete shook his head.

"I was most certainly not," Claudia added. "Pete was though."

"Yeah, I was a little," Pete admitted seeing as he was sprung. "How was your date with the dashing Mr Vincent?"

Myka shrugged half-heartedly as she stopped by the door to her own room. "Fine, as far as blind dates go. Thanks, Pete."

"Don't mention it. And will you be seeing him again?" Pete prodded. Claudia elbowed him sharply in the ribs.

"He's a little...boring," Myka explained tactfully. "Which wasn't his fault at all. I guess when you hang out with scientists and secret agents everyone else just pales in comparison. Poor Owen, it wasn't his fault. He was a really nice guy, just really nice but...not really my type." Myka stifled a yawn. "I'm kind of tired, I'll catch you guys in the morning."

When Myka closed her bedroom door behind her, Pete turned to Claudia and gave her a long steady look. "I guess thinking that a date would cheer her up was a little presumptive on my part."

Claudia slapped him on the shoulder. "You tried buddy, you tried."

Myka stood with her back to the door and sagged wearily against it. She heard muffled snatches of conversation between Pete and Claudia but she wasn't really eavesdropping. When Pete had brought up the suggestion of a blind date, she had initially balked at such a ridiculous suggestion. However, as she resisted the urge to throw something at Pete again, she had soon realised that it could possibly be the first step in getting a certain Victorian inventor out of her system.

The events of the evening played out in her head like a film. It had been a text book perfect date. Owen was inquisitive when it came to asking about the sorts of things she liked and polite enough not to press when she steered the conversation away from talking about her line of work. However, as the date progressed Myka had slowly come to the realisation that no matter how well it went, it would do nothing to take away her seemingly irrational longing for Helena G. Wells.

_Maybe it's too soon_, Myka thought as she finally peeled herself away from the door. She let out an exasperated sigh. _Seriously, you're acting as though you've just been through a break-up. New-flash, Bering, you were never dating Helena or anything remotely close_. _The closest you've ever come was momentarily getting all hot and bothered when you were tied up by the rope from the Mary Celeste. And that was strictly one-way traffic. _

Myka stripped the heels from her feet and, with some degree of finality, found a place for them at the very back of her closet.

* * *

Much to everyone's surprise, nothing remotely exciting happened at the Warehouse for several weeks. There were pings, but the recovered objects were relatively mundane and harmless. Both Myka and Pete were starting to suspect that they were glorified FedEx agents or that there was some sort of conspiracy in place to keep them safe, but bored.

"I kind of miss the days when the artifacts tried to kill me," Pete commented wistfully as he paused in the midst of making an annotation in the catalogue.

"I know what you mean," Myka agreed as she carefully folded a delicate Hermès scarf into a storage box. "Although I can think of a number of people, myself included, who could really benefit from borrowing Audrey Hepburn's scarf for a day."

"You don't need an impeccable dress sense, Mykes, you're an Agent, you're supposed to look boring and dowdy. If you suddenly showed up looking all glamorous then we'd know something was up."

"Hey-" Myka protested indignantly.

"Kidding!" Pete interrupted quickly. "You're perfect the way you are...although you could flash a bit of leg every now and then."

Myka laughed. She was still surprised at how easy it was to respond light-heartedly to one of Pete's comments. However, over the past few weeks she had managed to return to a semblance of normality. A veil of sadness still hung over everything they did and Claudia could still be observed staring longingly at Jinks' picture, but for the most part the rest of the affair with Walter Sykes had been consigned to the past. Myka had thrown herself into her work, tagging and bagging with enthusiasm - as though it was the only thing that mattered to her. In truth it was – the Warehouse was everything to her. Her work, her family, her life revolved around it. She didn't have the time for anything else – certainly not pining over an absent Englishwoman.

"Hey, Mykes?" Pete called out as they made their way back towards the office.

Myka looked over her shoulder. "Yes, Pete?"

"Nothing has tried to kill us for over a month, I'm beginning to feel a little unloved," he commented.

"I kinda like being alive," was Myka's practical response. "I'm much happier that way. And it's not as though we're not travelling – Switzerland to pick up Audrey's scarf, Australia the week before."

"Hot country, hot girls," Pete mused absently.

Like the gentleman he occasionally was, Pete opened the office door and held it for Myka. The office at the Warehouse was almost never completely empty – either Claudia was at her computer, Artie was fussing over papers on his desk or Pete was helping himself to the largest slice of cake from the lunch hamper. Myka, however, was surprised to find the office practically teeming with life. Claudia was still at her computer and Artie was standing near his desk, but they were both flanked by four other people. She immediately recognised Mrs Frederic, Pete's mother, Jane Lattimer, and Mr Kosan – one of the Warehouse's Regents. However the fourth person - a tall, well-dressed man - she did not know.

"Hi, Mom!" Pete greeted Jane warmly. As he reached in for a hug he continued, "You didn't tell me you were going to be in town."

"Short notice I'm afraid," Jane replied in her distinctive, gravelly voice. "I hope you haven't been misbehaving?"

"Of course not!" Pete protested.

"Although if I wanted a truthful answer to that, I should really just ask Myka," Jane said, arching an eyebrow.

"He's been pretty good," Myka readily agreed, looking at Pete. She remembered his patience and perseverance in trying to bring her out of her depression and smiled. "Awesome actually."

Pete grinned in return. As they exchanged polite greetings with Mrs Frederic and Mr Kosan, they were all really just waiting to be introduced to the stranger in their midst. Claudia had already fixed him with a discreet but unwavering stare and, following a cursory glance, Myka had to agree that he was quite handsome. There was nothing odd about him - he had textbook good looks from his elegantly chiseled nose to his fashionable, slightly tousled haircut. He caught her sizing him up and, before she could turn away, flashed her a smile with a dazzling set of white teeth.

_Of course his teeth are perfect_, she thought to herself. Her gaze had inadvertently switched from the mystery man to Pete. She cocked her head slightly in amusement as she saw her partner stand a little straighter than he normally did, with his chest puffed out in an effort to look...well, something, Myka couldn't really figure it out.

Thankfully Artie spoke up before "Pete, Myka, I'd like you to meet Jonathan Cain –"

"It's about time, Artie," Cain himself spoke up, interrupting Artie as he surged forward to shake Pete's hand. "No doubt you were wondering who the bloody hell I was!"

_Perfect_, Myka thought as soon as Cain opened his mouth and she heard a very familiar accent. "You're British?" it slipped out before she could stop herself – sounding both blunt and rude.

"Guilty as charged, Ms Bering!" Cain did not seem fazed by her statement. Instead he moved from Pete's side to hers, shaking her hand in a warm, firm grip. "Sorry if I'm overly familiar, I studied your files on the way across the Atlantic so I feel as though I know you already."

Mrs Frederic coughed. "Now that we have the pleasantries over, can we get down to business please?"

Although the pleasantries had hardly even begun, everyone obediently turned to face Mrs Frederic. The imposing Caretaker faced each in turn, as though to ensure they were paying full attention. Myka settled down on a nearby chair, with Pete perching on a table opposite. She immediately recognised the confused, slightly interested expression on his face. When he raised his eyebrows at her as though to ask 'do you know what the hell is going on?' she discreetly shrugged. Claudia caught her gaze next and there was just one word on her lips 'smokin' – directed of course at Jonathan Cain. This opinion merely received a second shrug from Myka although, given that Cain was leaning against the wall right next to her, it was an exceptionally discreet shrug. She was still trying to recover from the unpleasant shock of hearing the first British accent since Helena suddenly left the Warehouse. On a lighter note, she could already imagine Pete trying to imitate it when they were back at the B & B and the thought had her threatening to grin at a rather inappropriate moment.

"I don't need to tell you that the acquisition and safe storage of dangerous artifacts is the very reason for the existence of the Warehouse," Mrs Frederic intoned, looking at each of them in turn.

"We know that," Pete added. "But does he?"

As Pete inclined his head towards Jonathan Cain, Mrs Frederic gave him a glacially cold stare for daring to speak up before her briefing had even begun properly. Myka shrugged in sympathy, Pete had a good point. They didn't know the first thing about Jonathan Cain – although the fact that he had the support of both Mrs Frederic and The Regents did lend him a fair amount of credibility.

"I have had the opportunity to read your files, it's only fair that you should be able to see mine," Cain offered.

"I assure you, Mr Cain's credentials have been thoroughly endorsed by The Regents, otherwise he would not be standing in the Warehouse," Mr Kosan spoke up. "Now if you're finished, Mr Lattimer, we need to get this briefing underway."

Between the combined scrutiny of both Mrs Frederic and Mr Kosan – not to mention his mother - Pete clamped his mouth shut. He did however maintain a suspicious sideways glance at the apologetic visage of Jonathan Cain. Myka did feel somewhat badly for the handsome Englishman. He was the one stepping into a new environment and probably exceptionally nervous, no matter how confident he appeared on the outside. Still, she stopped short of offering him a reassuring smile. She shared her partner's concerns, they know nothing about Cain and until they did, she was going to keep him at arm's length.

"Mrs Frederic, if you will allow me?" Cain asked. Much to the surprise of the Warehouse agents, she responded with a small nod. "Pete, Myka, you want to know what my credentials are? I have spent the three years undercover at the behest of The Regents attempting to infiltrate an underground auction house - a Sotheby's for artifacts if you will."

"Mr Cain would have been our first choice to replace Ms. Bering when she resigned as Agent," Kosan added. "However he could not be taken out of his cover and we recruited Steve Jinks instead. The auction house has supposedly been in existence for hundreds of years, however only ever encounter in rumour and hearsay by actual Warehouse agents…until very recently we could not confirm its existence. Mr Cain's primary goal was to gain the trust of the people who run this auction, and from there, determine the extent of their operation."

Cain nodded. "I have only managed to scratch the surface of the various cells in operation. If my opinion was taken into account, I would spend another year fully mapping their organisation in order to bring it down more effectively. Unfortunately the situation dictates that we act sooner. I have recently begun to hear rumours of an upcoming auction unlike any other – that of an entire cache of objects stolen from Warehouse 12 in the 1870s. Following discussions with The Regents, we believe it to be the Cecil-Gibson cache."

"Acton Cecil-Gibson?" Myka asked, at Cain's nod she continued, "I was reading something in passing about him last week. He was essentially the Artie of Warehouse 12. He used his position to steal a number of artifacts throughout the 1870s – forty-three to be exact. He died of a mysterious illness before he could be made to divulge what he had done with the artifacts he stole. It was suspected initially that he had stolen each to order and sold them off, however when he died his estate was virtually penniless, indicating that he didn't sell them at all."

"How can you remember all of that from something you read in passing…last week?" Pete asked incredulously. "I mean I know you're super memory woman and all but that is ridiculous. And while we're at it…there's another agent who turned to the dark side? Do you people even check the references of the staff you hire?"

As Pete spoke, Myka brushed a finger against JA Larsen's ring. She didn't offer Pete an answer and was grateful when Jane Lattimer spoke up.

"We are all personally aware that, despite the rigour of the selection process, agents sometimes act for their own benefit as opposed to that of the Warehouse. There have been a number of cases throughout the years-"

Pete coughed, Myka clearly heard 'H.G.' in the midst of his less than discreet interruption. She immediately thought that this was slightly unfair. There were many agents who had weak moments throughout their career – it just happened that in her 'weak moment,' Helena had tried to destroy the civilised world. _Okay, I fully admit that I am biased when it comes to that particular ex-agent, _Myka thought. Regardless of her current feelings towards Helena, she would continue to believe that she was inherently a good person – regardless of what her fear drove her to do. Myka only needed to shut her eyes to remember the feel of the barrel of her own gun against her forehead. Not to mention watching the determination in Helena's eyes slowly give way to desperation in the moments before she crumpled to the ground.

Mrs Frederic grunted impatiently. "Agents Lattimer and Bering, The Regents have decided that you are both going to England to help Mr Cain recover the stolen artifacts and return them to their rightful home. You'll be leaving within the week."

"Righty-ho!" Pete replied in his best imitation of an English accent…which was terrible. He also sounded more than a little sarcastic.

"Don't worry, Pete," Cain said jovially. "I'll give you and Ms Bering a thorough briefing before we leave. Shall we start things off with a tour around Warehouse 13?"

Pete's expression said he was less than pleased at playing tour guide, it was left to Myka to stand up and take over. For obvious reasons, Claudia very quickly volunteered to assist with the tour.

Artie closed the door behind them on the way out and turned to face the two Regents and Mrs Frederic with a worried look on his face. "I would think that the sort of people who run this operation would be very dangerous characters indeed. What assurance do I have that you aren't sending my people into a situation that could wind up with them dead? I just lost one agent."

"I can give you no such assurances," Mrs Frederic replied. There was a pained expressed on Jane Lattimer's face. "We all know that it is a risk you take every day when dealing with artifacts. Agent Jink's death was tragic, but we cannot continue to wrap Lattimer and Bering in cotton wool. We need to retrieve those artifacts before they are sold and we lose them forever."

"You're sending Pete and Myka, along with someone they've only just met, up against an organisation you know very little about. Three people against how many? There may be dozens of them!"

"Four people," Mr Kosan pointed out.

Artie frowned. "Four?"

"H.G. Wells will be joining them," Kosan admitted. "Although she was not an employee of Warehouse 12 at the same time as Cecil-Gibson, The Regents feel that her insight will nevertheless be valuable."

It was Mrs Frederic's turn to frown. "I was under the impression that Ms. Wells wanted no further involvement with Warehouse 13?"

"Ms. Wells will remain linked to the Warehouse for the rest of her life," Kosan said firmly – his tone unwavering. "She is a resource of the Warehouse, and the moment she ceases to be that resource, she will be re-consigned to the Bronzer. If she is labouring under the false impression that she will be left to her own devices, then she is sadly mistaken. This time tomorrow, I expect Ms Wells to either be assisting with the case at hand…or back in Bronze."


	4. The Cruellest Punishment

**Chapter Four – The Cruellest Punishment**

Her actions were distinctly child-like in their repetition - toggling the automatic windows up...then down, over and over. As a blast of dusty air caught her in the face, she listened to the internal motors whirring. It was such a simple use of the electrical system, altogether unnecessary, but interesting all the same. Electric windows – a true marvel of the modern age in which Helena now found herself.

It was important that she never stopped to contemplate the car as a whole – or any piece of technology in the 21st century for that matter. To attempt to understand the sophisticated contraption in which she now found herself - let alone society as a whole - would leave her quickly overwhelmed. Instead she analysed each component separately, seeking to come to some sort of understanding. It was a fascinating age. It was just a pity that people did not seem to have changed. They were just as irrational, violent and intolerant as the ones she had left behind in the 19th century. Helena toggled the window yet again, only this time there was a decidedly sharp cough from the other side of the back seat. She turned her head to find the formidable Mrs Frederic glaring at her. A lesser-willed individual may very well have wished to open the door and throw themselves from the moving vehicle, Helena merely lifted her eyebrows as if to say 'what?' However she did let her hand fall from the switch and settled it in her lap. She was forced to resort to staring out of the window at the desolate landscape rolling by. Nothing looked familiar, because it was all the same.

It was only five minutes later that Helena knew exactly where she was. Mrs Frederic's driver drew the car to a halt outside the massive facade of Warehouse 13. Helena stared at it for a few moments, before returning her gaze to her hands in her lap.

"I know this is the last place you want to be, Miss Wells," she heard Mrs Frederic say. It was the first words Helena had heard her say since picking her up from The Ranch some three hours earlier. The sound of speech was jarring after the hum of the car engine. "But you can do good here."

"And atone for my sins?" her own voice sounded hoarse. She needed a glass of water.

"If you feel you must," was the infuriatingly calm reply. As Helena eventually managed to glance back up at the Warehouse, Mrs Frederic exited from the car. She held her door open for a moment and peered back in at the reluctant passenger. "Whenever you are ready, Miss Wells...but I haven't got all day."

Mrs Frederic closed the door, leaving Helena alone save for the statue-like driver. The Warehouse represented everything Helena wanted in this life – a purpose, a place to belong, and people to share her life with. Artie, Pete, Claudia...and Myka, they were as close to friends as she was ever likely to have. However she had compromised all of that by falling in love with Myka Bering. It was the reason she remained stubbornly sitting in the car instead of marching with her head held high back into the Warehouse. It was only Mrs Frederic giving her an impatient wave that drove her from the car. She was clearly waiting for her. Helena drew in a deep breath, opened the car door, and stepped outside. _Perhaps you can do this_, she thought as her boots crunched over the dry dirt beneath them.

As she followed Mrs Frederic through the umbilicus, Helena's meagre reserve of courage began to dwindle to the point where it was all she could do to keep placing one foot in front of the other. _This is bloody stupid,_ Helena thought. _I am acting as though marching to my doom. They are just people, each and every one of them...even Myka. She just happens to be a ridiculously good-looking person._

Before she had time to fully work out her entrance speech, Helena had passed through the umbilicus and found herself standing in front of three pairs of eyes – each intently trained on her. Artie, Pete and Claudia all wore matching stares as she stared at each in turn. A small sigh of relief escaped her lips when she realised Myka was not the first person she would have to see.

"Hello everyone," she managed to sound a great deal more cheerful than she felt. _Just wait for it..._Helena stood patiently, prepared for the verbal protestations against her return to the Warehouse. She clearly remembered Pete's vehemence the last time she had simply shown up, and then she had merely been a holographic representation of her consciousness. Granted, they had moved on somewhat since then, but she didn't expect a welcome mat.

She was still waiting for the expected anger when Claudia threw herself forward in a blur of movement. "H.G!" Stunned, Helena could only stand still as she was enveloped in an unrestrained hug. When Claudia pulled back, there was a genuine grin of pleasure on her face. "What's up with bailing on us without a goodbye? That was so not cool, not cool in the slightest!"

Helena felt a tug at the corner of her lips. "I am sorry, darling. I will try to be...cool in the future."

"But you're back now right? Or is just one of those one time deals where The Regents trot you out to help us and then send you back to prison?"

As she stared at Claudia, Helena realised that at least one person was actually excited to have her back at the Warehouse. She glanced towards Artie and Pete, previously her most ardent opponents. Pete marched across the floor and held out his hand. "It's good to have you back, H.G."

"Thank you, Pete," Helena said as she took the proffered hand. "I actually wasn't in prison. The Regents in all their benevolence decided not to lock me up." She looked at each one in turn, studying their expressions for any hint of indignation at such leniency. Surprisingly, there was none. Only Artie appeared slightly odd – and he was furtive and guilty as opposed to anything else. "So you may be stuck with me for some time I am afraid. At least until I outstay my welcome."

"You are welcome here, H.G."

Helena looked across to Artie, wondering if she had actually heard those words from his lips. However the Warehouse director gave her a rare smile. A far cry from the time she had shot him in the shoulder...or rather, the time he had shot her in the shoulder and the Corsican Brothers vest had reflected it back onto him. So technically...he had shot himself. "It is good to be here," she said, realising almost immediately that she genuinely meant it.

"Where's Mykes?" Pete suddenly asked. "We're all here hanging with H.G. Wells and she's not, she won't be happy about that."

"Um, she was explaining our cataloguing process to Jonathan," Artie said helpfully. "Last I recall they were in the Farnsworth aisle."

"Jonathan?" Helena frowned. "A new recruit?" She didn't even want to bring up the memory of the Warehouse's last new recruit – the poor young man whom Sykes had killed in front of her. Steve Jinks' face would already haunt her for the rest of her life.

"Not exactly," Artie answered her question. "Jonathan Cain - he has been seconded onto the Warehouse team for our latest mission. A compatriot of yours actually."

"How lovely," Helena replied, feigning an interest where she had absolutely none. She didn't care whether this Jonathan Cain was British or Mexican. Now that she was faced with the prospect of actually seeing Myka again, it was all she could think about. "The Farnsworth aisle you say?"

"I'll show you-" Claudia began, stopping only when she remembered that Helena knew perfectly well where the Farnsworth aisle was.

Helena smiled. "I'm sure I can remember the way." _Whether I actually make it all the way there is another matter entirely. _

* * *

"It all seems frightfully boring," Jonathan Cain remarked as Myka programmed in the storage details of the Hepburn scarf. "I'm more of a man of action, paperwork just seems so mundane after you've actually been out in the field."

Myka shrugged. "I guess it depends on what sort of person you are, but I always reason that if Pete can do it, anyone can do it."

Cain laughed lightly. Over the past day spent in his company Myka had learnt that the Brit was more than a little pompous, and sometimes even unknowingly condescending. However for the most part, he was relatively likeable. His sense of humour was poles apart from Pete's, in fact she had stopped comparing the two men almost as soon as she began. She knew Pete was slightly jealous, it was evident in the way he had neatly sidestepped out of showing Cain the basics of their process. Myka fully suspected that he was hiding out in the Pete-cave, no doubt drinking cream soda and eating peanut M & Ms.

"Well, that's that done," Myka said as she saved the information on the storage computer mounted on the rack. "Shall I show you the Dark Vault?"

"Certainly, but I was a little more interested in the Bronzer," Cain said offhandedly.

Myka tried to keep her expression neutral. She hated the Bronzer. If she could help it, she went nowhere near the place. Then she didn't have to endure the blank, bronze stares of those individuals residing there. Then there were the inevitable thoughts about Helena. Even though the Englishwoman had asked to be Bronzed, the thought of her trapped, fully conscious for over a century was unpleasant and depressing.

"I guess so," Myka said without a trace of enthusiasm.

"Excellent," Cain didn't pick up on her feelings about the subject. "It seems like a grand solution for criminals – no fuss, no protests over dreadful prison food, no scheduled exercise time."

"They're not all criminals," Myka replied as she started to turn around. "Some of them are..."

..._stunning, perfect, and standing right in front of me_. The rest of her thoughts then descended into an incoherent mess as she stared at the one person she had been trying not to think about...the one person she could not forget. Time seemed to stop in that moment, she forgot Cain was standing next to her, she forgot everything except the woman standing at the end of the Farnsworth aisle. Clad in a simple pants suit with a white shirt, hands tucked nonchalantly into her pockets, Helena G. Wells was as elegant and poised as ever. Although she searched her face thoroughly, devouring every curve and plane, Myka couldn't read her expression.

"Myka?" It took a word from Cain to bring her back to her senses. "Are you going to introduce us?"

"Sorry, Jonathan...um, Jonathan Cain, this is...H.G. Wells." _Helena Georgia Wells. Writer, inventor, ex-Warehouse employee, and almost one hundred and fifty years old. Responsible for the near destruction of the civilised world, me tendering my resignation from the Warehouse and utterly, completely, falling in love..._

Cain crossed the distance between himself and Helena in several quick strides, his hand extended. "Miss Wells, what a true pleasure."

"Thank you, Mr Cain," Helena replied politely. "I take it you are new to the Warehouse?"

"I am indeed, but Myka has been an excellent host...putting up with the most banal of questions on my part." Cain grinned broadly, but he was the only one with a smile on his face. He was a very intelligent man, he soon realised that he was interrupting some sort of reunion. "If you'll excuse me, ladies, I need to use the bathroom."

"Can you find your way back to the office?" Myka asked, only throwing him a cursory glance.

"Of course, and I promise not to touch anything."

Myka watched Cain walk away, if only to have somewhere to look other than at Helena. When he disappeared around the end of the aisle, she switched instead to her feet. It was the desperate need to see Helena's face again that drove her to look up. She was still standing there, still staring at her with those unreadable dark eyes.

"H.G Wells."

"Agent Bering."

Silence descended again. For almost half a minute, neither woman said anything in addition to the tersely exchanged greetings. The emotions that Myka had so desperately wanted to confess to Helena a few weeks earlier remained stubbornly trapped in her throat. They became tangled in the disorganised chaos of her mind to the point that it was impossible to make any sort of sense out of them.

"Myka...I..." Helena finally broke the silence but her voice trailed off quickly as her next words eluded her.

"Helena," Myka croaked weakly in return. _Why does it feel so damn good just to say her name?_

However, despite the potential questions hovering just out of reach, she stubbornly set her jaw. Helena was the one who had refused to see her, consequentially ruining any chance of them actually figuring out what the hell was going on between them. Myka decided that she wouldn't...or couldn't take the next step. In that direction lay only pain at the mercy of the cruelly unpredictable Helena G. Wells.

When she spoke again her voice was satisfactorily under control. "Welcome back to the Warehouse."

It was as though a heavy oaken door had slammed shut in Helena's face. She heard it in Myka's tone and saw it written plainly in her expression. The underlying chill to her friend's voice stung for a moment and she struggled to understand what it meant. It did not take her brilliantly deductive brain long to realise that Myka was angry. Refusing to see her a few weeks earlier had been a mistake on her part, but Helena didn't think that it would outweigh any pleasure Myka derived from seeing her again. The perpetually confident Helena withered beneath the other woman's glare and an apology died on her lips.

_You're being uncharacteristically meek, H.G._, she thought to herself, squaring her shoulders. _Since when have you ever cowered beneath someone's poor opinion of you?_ "Thank you, Agent Bering." Refusing to be outdone, Helena deliberately ensured her own tone was just as formal as Myka's. Helena had spent much of her life on the receiving end of the worst aspects of Victorian societal etiquette – the denigration of women – and therefore this came all too easily for her. "Although I did not have a great deal of choice in the matter. Apparently I am far too dangerous to be left to my own devices."

Myka's only response was silence. Neither woman needed to be reminded that Helena had been on the verge of bringing the entire world to its knees because she couldn't deal with her own pain.

_Forever the villain,_ Helena thought despondently. The silence was enough to make Helena wish that actual time travel was possible. Instead of meekly agreeing to Kosan's order to return to the Warehouse like some sort of frightened sap, she would tell him where to shove it – most likely in a manner entirely unbecoming to a woman of her class. At first the silence was merely uncomfortable, however Helena could both sense and see the coldness in Myka's demeanour. Her mouth was set into a grim line, her gaze hard and emotionless. _This isn't the Myka I know_, Helena thought. She remembered the woman who defended her when no one else would, who had written in support of her reinstatement and had welcomed her with open arms. That woman now had absolutely nothing to say to her.

"I just wanted to say hello," Helena say quietly, awkwardly. ""I'll leave you to your work, Myka."

She turned on her heels and began to walk away. Her footsteps on the concrete floor were the only sounds she could hear other than the blood throbbing between her ears. She willed herself to walk faster.

"Helena!"

At the sound of Myka's shout she stopped reluctantly. The tone remained just as cold, although an amount of anger had crept in. Whatever Myka had stopped her to say, it could not be good. When she turned, Myka was pacing towards her, a frustrated expression on her face.

"How could you just leave like that?"

"Like what?" Helena asked innocently.

Myka growled angrily and stabbed her finger in Helena's direction. "Don't play games with me, you know full well that you bailed without so much as a word to anyone, to Artie, or Claudia..." _Or me._

"I am sorry about that," Helena replied honestly. "You have to understand-"

"Understand what?" Myka demanded. "That you didn't want to remain around the very people you had betrayed?"

Helena shook her head. "No, Myka...my body and my consciousness were separated for almost a year...with everything that happened with Walter Sykes I didn't have time to fully appreciate what my freedom meant. I had many things to think through. I needed time, a little space to myself...and all the while I feared that The Regents would decide to commit my consciousness back to the Janus coin."

The expression on Myka's face finally shifted. Her mouth opened slightly in shock. "They wouldn't do that to you..."

"We both know that they would," Helena said softly. "I am only standing in front of you today because they held the threat of re-Bronzing me over my head. I am not ready to be back here...to face certain things..." _Namely my feelings about you. _"Yet here I am."

_I'm glad you're back_, Myka thought, wondering why those simple words were too difficult for her to say aloud. She attempted a sort of half smile, but feared that it came out as more of a grimace than anything. _Holy shit, I want to kiss her so badly. _

"Anyway, I really ought to leave you to your work. I should imagine Artie and Mrs Frederic want to brief me on the aspects of our latest mission," Helena said. "I will see you later, Myka."

Myka nodded, still unable to say anything. Even when Helena turned and walked away, she remained silent. She saw Jonathan Cain returning, he offered a few words to Helena, but she couldn't hear what he said.

It was all Helena could do to keep her shoulders square and head held high as she walked away from Myka Bering. Walking away was the last thing she wanted to be doing – she wanted to stay close to her, even if it just meant being in her presence without actually saying anything. If she was close then she could watch the way smiles frequently developed on her face, or catch a brief hint of the perfume she wore. Instead she was walking away after a conversation that had been almost disastrous. Only the sight of Jonathan Cain walking towards her kept tears from her eyes.

"Miss Wells!" he greeted her. "I do hope we get a chance to talk decently. I am afraid I have agreed to assist Myka at this point in time, but perhaps later at the B & B – are you staying there?"

In truth Helena had not considered her accommodations, but she supposed that she was. Where else would she stay in this wretched little hamlet? "That would be lovely, Mr Cain." It was a blatant lie - it wouldn't be lovely or anything of the sort.

Jonathan Cain flashed her one last dazzling smile, she knew that a century ago he would have been precisely the sort of man she may have whiled away a few hours with – perhaps even let him have a kiss or two. However now he was merely inhabiting the same space as her, nothing more. Helena reached the end of the aisle, something nagging at the back of her mind drove her to turn around. She watched as Cain rejoined Myka, a smile immediately lighting up her friend's face. He said something and Helena was forced to listen to the musical sound of Myka's laughter filtering down the aisle to her ears.

There were signs as she looked on...a brief touch, continual grinning, an attentiveness that she recognised all too well from the flirtations of her youth. Helena's world very quickly seemed to come crashing down around her ears. Any hopes she may have had for further opportunities to talk to Myka went up in a single flash when an awful thought entered her mind. _She is attracted to him._ She realised then that The Regents had been cruel not to slice her in two with the Janus Coin, or even recommit her to the Bronzer. In front of her was a punishment far worse than both combined. She was to be a spectator, watching as the woman she loved chose someone else over her.


	5. Crying over Spilt Milk

**Chapter Five – Crying Over Spilt Milk**

At that very moment in time, Helena G. Wells was trying to decide which was worse – being in the same room as Myka Bering or being in the same room and not being able to kiss her. Granted it was unlikely that she would kiss her even if they were on such intimate terms as there were five other people in the room. However, as she stole another sideways glance towards the infuriating woman, she had to admit to herself that she couldn't rule it out. Myka was entirely kissable. Unfortunately she was also sitting next to Jonathan Cain. It seemed as though she couldn't stare at Myka without his smug face getting in the way. It wasn't that she particularly disliked him as an individual, she loathed the fact that Myka actually talked to him, smiled at him and all the other small things that Helena desperately wanted. _Surely a smile isn't too much to ask for?_ she thought sadly. Clearly it was.

As Helena entertained daydreams about catching Myka's eye and sharing a mutual smile, she didn't realise that Mrs Frederic was trying to get her attention. Finally the Caretaker had to cough insistently. Helena glanced up with a start and realised that everyone was waiting on her. Smoothing her hands over her thighs, Helena scraped back her chair and stood. She couldn't help but note that everyone in the room – Artie, Claudia, Pete, Mrs Frederic, Cain – was staring at her expectantly, everyone save Myka. She was staring at something on the table in front of her as though it was exceptionally interesting.

"Agent Wells?"

Helena felt an uncharacteristic flush creep into her face. Had everyone noticed she was staring at Myka? "Um...Mrs Frederic has asked me to brief you on what I know about Acton Cecil-Gibson. As you will have realised, he predated my time at Warehouse 12 by almost two decades so I did not know him personally. However my teacher, Caturanga, referred to him often, and his influence was very much felt. The lost artifacts were somewhat of a black mark hanging over our heads," Helena explained, dredging up information from her previous life.

"Did you actively try to recover those artifacts?" Artie asked.

Helena nodded. "Of course. Many hours were spent throughout the duration of my time there. Most often we seemed to be following slender clues left behind by Cecil-Gibson, none of which proved fruitful."

"Dude was good at covering his tracks," Claudia pointed out.

"That he was," Helena replied. "And we also believe that the total number of objects stolen was greater, possibly as high as 50. This is undoubtedly a major collection of artifacts, many of which are dangerous in one form or another."

"How come they're not all dangerous?" Pete asked. "Seems to me if someone was stealing artifacts, they'd go for ones that pack a punch. Kinda like Sykes and his collection of torture devices and WMDs."

"Cecil-Gibson's motivations seem to be entirely different. I believe he was a collector in the true sense of the word, except instead of teaspoons or matchboxes, his passions lay with artifacts."

"Who in their right mind would collect teaspoons?" Pete said dismissively.

"Ah, the same sort of person who collects soda cans?" Claudia pointed out.

"Hey, they're in the Pete cave, they're not hurting anyone!"

Claudia raised her eyebrows. "You're supposed to rinse them out."

Myka let the harmless conversation flow over her in an effort to keep from becoming frustrated. As much as she loved both Pete and Claudia, she fervently wished they would shut up so Helena could continue her briefing. At that point in time, the only voice she wanted to hear in her head was that of the Englishwoman. She risked another glance towards Helena, thankful that she was staring patiently at Pete and Claudia. Myka watched the slight trace of amusement pass across her face, seeming to lift the weary countenance that had besieged her throughout her first few days back at the Warehouse. It was entirely appropriate that she take some, possible most, of the blame for this. Her outburst upon seeing Helena had been cruel to say the least. Where there should have been a warm welcome, she had only angry words.

Finally silence descended for a split second. Helena seized her chance to resume talking, and Myka could return to staring down at the table. She wished she could close her eyes. Then she would be able to pretend that Helena was talking to her alone instead of a room full of people.

"There were rumours of a key," Helena was saying. "But if that was his secret, we found no trace of it."

"I believe the organisation that I have infiltrated is in possession of it," Cain added. "In particular, one man – Herodotus Wilde."

"Herodotus?" Pete snickered. "That must have been fun on the playground. Does anyone actually take the guy seriously?"

Cain gave him a perfectly serious stare in return. "I assure you, Pete, people take Mr Wilde very seriously indeed. He is not a man to be trifled with. I have often seen his personal bodyguard carrying a slim leather suitcase, while fairly innocuous, the case is at all times handcuffed to the man's wrist. Whatever lies within, I believe is integral to the Cecil-Gibson collection. If we're to have any chance of avoiding this auction and finding the collection, we need an Agent to get close to Wilde, within his inner circle at least."

"Can't we just bid on the stuff?" Claudia suggested. "Because I totally volunteer to look awesomely nonchalant while I sit and raise my little number thingee."

"What makes you think the Warehouse has that kind of money?" Mrs Frederic asked her with raised eyebrows. Claudia shrugged sheepishly and she continued. "Whether it does or not is immaterial. The Warehouse will not, in any circumstances fund these people in their endeavours. The Regents have decided that it be done through infiltration, and that is how it will be done. We have already invested considerable time with Mr Cain."

"Hey, aren't you guys already buddies?" Pete asked Cain. "You and this Hairy-do-toss?"

"Merely acquaintances, casual conversationalists," Cain replied calmly. "You see, save for his bodyguard, the only people that are admitted to Wilde's inner circle are beautiful women. As you can see, I am not one of those. That is where Ms Wells comes in."

Helena's jaw dropped. For a few moments she was uncharacteristically speechless. She finally turned to Mrs Frederic. "I was led to believe that you wanted my expertise, my knowledge and yet in actual fact yet expect me to play the…strumpet!"

At first Myka was slightly indignant that she had not been asked to play the part of the 'strumpet' (as Helena so delightfully labelled the role), however this sensation soon passed. _I mean, just look at her_, she thought, unconsciously parting her lips. _The woman is…sex on legs, and I want both. The sex and the legs. _Myka pursed her lips thoughtfully and a few moments later a flood of explicit images involving Helena and her very much naked legs floated into her brain. The immediate response was a rush of colour to her cheeks. Thankfully everyone else seemed to be focused on Helena.

"We are all expected to fulfil different roles, Ms Wells," Mrs Frederic unsympathetically pointed out. "This is the one that has been chosen for you because I know you will carry it through to the best of your ability."

"With a Tesla hidden in my bra no doubt," Helena replied archly.

_Helena's bra_. Myka groaned inwardly. _She had to mention that._

"Whatever it takes," replied Mrs Frederic, ignoring Helena's sarcasm. "The four of you will be flying out tomorrow afternoon."

Accompanying Claudia's depressed sigh at being left out, was a whoop of delight from Pete, an 'about bloody time' from Cain, and a roll of the eyes from Helena. Myka remained silent, her eyes darting furtively for the door in the hope of a hasty exit. No sooner had Mrs Frederic said 'I'll leave you all to get prepared,' Myka mumbled something that might have been about needing to pack and slipped out of the office.

Over the next few minutes, everyone drifted out of the office save for Pete and Claudia. Pete because it was lunch time and Claudia because she was still feeling miffed about being left out. Unfortunately Pete wasn't really the person she needed to talk to about it. He just shrugged and agreed that she should be coming with them to London, even if it was just to keep him stocked with cream soda.

As he sat , alternating between bites of a cookie and a turkey sandwich, there was an oddly pensive expression on his face. Claudia soon picked up on it for the fact that it was a decidedly un-Pete-like expression.

"Whatcha thinking about?"

"Mykes," he replied simply, continuing to chew slowly.

Claudia waited for him to continue, but it was clear he was more interested in his sandwich. She scrunched up a bit of scrap paper into a ball and threw it at him.

"Hey! What?" he protested.

"You can't just leave it at that," Claudia pointed out. "What do you think is up with Myka?"

"What, you think something is up with her too?" Pete frowned.

"I asked you first, doofus."

"I think she's is luuurve," he replied with a mouth full of cookie and sandwich. He thought about this for a moment and then shrugged. "Or at least she's in like...or something like that. She's been acting all weird over the last couple of days, and it coincided with that British guy turning up. I think she's got the hots for Cain."

Claudia tapped her fingers thoughtfully on her chin. She wrinkled her lips, obviously debating something internally. Eventually she sighed and looked Pete directly in the eyes. "I don't think Myka likes Jonathan in the way you think she likes him."

Pete stopped chewing and looked surprised. "Okay, do you know something I don't?"

"She doesn't love him," Claudia continued.

Pete was growing increasingly confused. "I didn't quite say she was in love with the guy, I said she might like-"

"She's in love with H.G. Wells," the young techie said as bluntly as she could.

Pete did not reply immediately. He just stared suspiciously at Claudia as though she was playing a practical joke on him. When the serious expression on her face did not change his jaw began to work, soundlessly at first before the word vomit followed.

"H.G. Wells? Are you talking about the same H.G. Wells who tried to destroy the world with a giant fork? Since when has Myka ever been attracted to women who like playing with super volcanoes?" Pete mulled over his previous sentence for a few moments. "And while we're at it, let's just think on the word women for a moment – lovely word, women, woman...but using the words Myka and 'attracted to women' in the same sentence seems more than a little...odd. Not that I have anything against it, it's just if there were women in her past, why don't I know about it?"

"You mean why haven't you seen pictures and heard stories?" Claudia suggested. "Have you ever heard Myka say she's straight? Who says she can't be attracted to a woman?"

"The woman in question is completely cuckoo! Undoubtedly hot...really, really hot...and I was guilty of being suckered in by the hotness...but she zapped Myka and I with a tesla after pretending to be our friend for weeks! Then stole the giant fork and went all super villain. What kind of a person does that?"

"A chick who spent decades in the bronzer stewing in her own grief and hate?" Claudia replied as though it was obvious. "Who's to say anyone of us wouldn't do the same? Anyway, I'm not making excuses for her. She was prepared to let us destroy the Janus Coin to avoid it falling into Sykes' hands. I think she's changed Pete, and I'd be my meagre pay check that Myka has had a big part to play in that."

His own expression turned intensely thoughtful. So many situations and conversations flashed into his head in a very short space of time. Their first encounter in London, where he had been completely intoxicated by the British woman in just a few short minutes. Whatever had happened subsequently, she was a damn good kisser. Pete also suddenly remembered a brief exchange he had overheard between the two of them in Russia. H.G. had slipped a tracking device into Myka's pocket and the playful interchange on its discovery had seemed almost like flirting. There had been a dozen looks, glances between the two of them that he had not thought about twice. It had been H.G. who had convinced Myka to return to the Warehouse.

"Myka is in love with H.G." Pete repeated, rolling the strange sounding phrase over in his head.

"Yeah, and you thought she liked Cain," Claudia snorted.

"How the hell was I supposed to know?" Pete protested. "I don't have any gaydar!"

Claudia sighed and shook her head. "Nice try, Pete."

Pete sighed almost in tandem with Claudia. "That explains the whole PMS thing over the past few weeks. Between Steve dying and H.G. being taken god knows where...shit...poor Mykes. You're sure about this whole "Myka's in love with H.G.' thing?"

"Ninety-five percent," Claudia replied confidently.

It was Pete's turn to shake his head. "I'm still struggling a little. How do you know?"

"Duh! It's H.G. freakin Wells, with her sexy British accent. Who wouldn't be in love with her. Even I'm a little bit in love with her."

"She stuck Myka and I to the ceiling, Clauds. And we keep forgetting about the whole world ending dealio-" Pete cut himself short, putting both the cookie and the sandwich back into his lunchbox. Things had just gone from being relatively normal, to completely crazy in the space of one conversation. He pushed his half-eaten food across to Claudia. "You hungry?"

Claudia took one look at the masticated remnants of Pete's lunch and shook her head. He pushed his chair backwards, balancing on the back legs as he pondered over this new information. What if he said something to Myka and Claudia had been wrong? He shrugged to himself, it wouldn't be the first time he had been wrong about something. What he didn't like was the fact that his friend was troubled about something. A part of him was trying to say that it was none of his business, but he knew that Myka was the sort of person who wouldn't sort things out for herself. The whole time Pete had known her, there had not been the slightest hint of romance in her life. Everybody deserved a chance, even crazy Englishwomen. His face took on a determined expression.

"Pete, you're not going to do something stupid are you?" Claudia immediately picked up on it.

"Who me? Of course not," Pete smiled angelically.

* * *

Helena wasn't at all surprised that she continued to have difficulty sleeping. She would have skipped it as some sort of annoying chore if she knew she could get away with it. Unfortunately, despite opinions to the contrary, she was still human and needed as much sleep as the next person. She knew having a cup of tea in the middle of the night wasn't her smartest move, but there was nothing like a steaming hot cup of earl grey to ease a worried mind.

The kitchen at the B & B was silent and dark as she entered. The only light was that of the three-quarter moon streaming in the window. She set the kettle to boiling and crossed to the fridge to retrieve the milk. As she turned with the carton in her hand, a shape suddenly moved in front of her. Helena let out an unheroic shriek and promptly dropped the carton. It hit the floor with a dull thud and the sides split. A spray of milk burst out over the floor and her slippers.

With her heart pulsing, she looked up from the mess to find Pete staring at her with an apologetic expression on his face.

"Pete! What the bloody hell are you doing skulking around in the dark?"

"It's 12.30am," he replied as though that was all the explanation he needed. When he saw Helena's confused expression he continued, "I always get hungry at 12.30am."

Helena looked away from Pete's earnest expression, back to the spilt milk all over the floor in front of her. Suddenly making a hot cup of tea did not sound like such a good idea. The mess and her lack of sleep combined to make her feel thoroughly and uttered depressed within a short space of time. Even the thought of attempting to clean up the milk, brought unexpected tears to her eyes. Mortified of the thought of crying in front of Pete, she became a whirlwind of activity.

"H.G?" Pete asked as she scrambled about on the floor, trying her best to mop up the milk. "Are you alright?"

"Of course I'm alright, what would I bloody not be?" It was difficult to reign in her temper, but she instantly regretted it. Especially when Pete hunkered down in front of her and gently prised the cloth out of her white-knuckled fingers.

"Because you're crying," he pointed out simply. Without making a big deal about the tears, he efficiently set about cleaning up the rest of the spill as Helena slumped backwards. With her back pressed against the counter and the cold floor beneath her arse, she tucked her knees up to her chest. Without glancing up, Pete tried to reassure her. "It's really okay you know, I'm sure we've got plenty of milk. Leena isn't going to ball you out for wasting one carton."

Helena laughed despite herself. "Thanks, Pete."

He was uncharacteristically silent as he finished cleaning and dumped the empty carton in the trash. Once done, he reached his hand down to her and helped her back to her feet. For a few awkward moments, she thought that he might hug her. However he appeared uncertain, and ended up giving her a sort of pat on the shoulder.

"You've got friends here, H.G," he said sincerely. "Me, Clauds...Myka-" he watched the sudden play of emotion across the Englishwoman's face- "we quite like you, you know? Even though I think I should sue you for recurrent back pains as a result of falling from the ceiling at your house. Whatever it is, you're not alone here. If you want to talk-"

"You're sweet," Helena interrupted him. "Thank you. I'm just tired, I think I'll go back to bed."

"You look like you were making a cup of tea? Want me to do it for you?" he offered.

Helena shook her head. The last thing she wanted to do was get in a prolonged conversation with Pete. He was Myka's best friend, she couldn't be sure that he wouldn't take anything she said right back to Myka. Besides, she wasn't willing to leave Pete with that sort of knowledge. Not that he wasn't sweet and sincere, she just wasn't about to let anyone have a secret that she intended to take to her grave.

"I'm fine, honestly. I'll see you tomorrow, Pete."

Leaving Pete to find his midnight snack, Helena made the trek back to her room. She flicked on the lamp and studied her face in the mirror. It wasn't much, but the glazed, puffy look of her eyes had completely betrayed her. She quickly turned the light off and felt much more secure in the comforting embrace of darkness. Even though she knew sleep would be a long time in coming, she folded herself back into her bed and closed her eyes. She knew allowing herself to get lost in a series of ridiculously hopeless scenarios was a mistake, but it did give her some measure of comfort. In her head, she was able to eloquently confess her feelings to Myka. There was no hesitation, no awkwardness. It was an imagined world where Myka wasn't angry at her and she wasn't in love with Jonathan Cain. In that world everything played out perfectly. The confession was followed by a kiss, and in her head Myka was an amazing kisser. Helena felt her cheeks grow warm in the dark and repressed desires quickly seized the opportunity to come to the surface. An insistent throbbing between her legs reminded her that she had not had sex in a very, very long time. Almost instinctively, her hand trailed its way downwards, lightly grazing the skin left bare where her top had ridden up slightly. She got as far as sliding her fingers beneath the band of her pyjamas when she snatched her hand back. Grinding her teeth angrily, Helena turned over and jammed both her hands under her pillow. She would not be able to look Myka in the eye ever again if she let herself go that far.

"H.G, old girl, you are in serious trouble," she murmured to herself, desperately willing sleep to claim her.


	6. Dame in a Red Dress

**Chapter Six**

**Dame in a Red Dress **

_"I hope that one day I can love you the way you love me."_  
_"You figured it out once. You'll do it again."_

Myka snorted derisively and stabbed her thumb down on the in-flight entertainment controls, abruptly cutting off the movie. "Bullshit," she whispered. "No one can figure that out for themselves."

Despite the ridiculous vast array of channels on offer, she found herself unable to concentrate any movie right through until the end. She indiscriminately flicked through the menu anyway – bypassing a comedy when it failed to even bring a smile to her lips, an action movie because the terrible script did make her smile for all the wrong reasons and a romance because it wasn't fair for anyone to be happy – even fictional characters. She finally gave up and switched the screen off altogether. Her scowl deepened when she turned to look at Pete. In the dimmed lights of the cabin, she saw that her best friend was thoroughly engaged in whatever it was he was watching. The muffled laughs stopped only when he was stuffing his mouth with nuts – and sometimes not even then.

As though he could sense that he was being watched, Pete turned his head. He caught Myka's eye for only a split second as she quickly glanced away. She folded her arms across her chest – effectively closing herself off with her posture. Myka pretended to look out of the window, half-tensed as she obviously expected him to throw a peanut at her ear. Moments passed and the flying nut never eventuated.

With a sigh, Pete tugged the headphones out of his ears and switched his movie off. He'd already seen this particular comedy a couple of times, and there was always Netflix. He was unused to Myka's flustered fidgeting during a plane flight. Usually she buried herself in a book for the entire duration, pausing only to accept food or a drink. He reached out and laid a gentle hand on her upper arm. She flinched slightly at the unexpected contact. The touch was brief, but Pete had her attention.

"You're not pissed because Helena and Cain are flying first class and we're stuck in coach?" he asked, trying to inject an element of humour into his voice.

The separation had been Cain's idea. Myka had secretly been harbouring ideas of spending a plane flight sandwiched in a narrow seat next to Helena. Just as she was imaging their elbows nestled comfortably against one another's, Cain had unhelpfully pointed out that the four of them should not be seen travelling together. If he was to continue in the circles he had infiltrated and introduce Helena without a hitch, neither of them could hint that they were associates of Warehouse Agents. While Pete and Myka ordinarily maintained a low profile, they were known to people – sometimes these were the wrong sort of people. Despite her initial disappointment, Myka soon saw the sense in Cain's suggestion. She was in favour of anything that would keep Helena even slightly safer whilst carrying out the assignment. So she was crammed in coach next to Pete whilst Helena and Cain were travelling first class on an earlier flight. Although it was not rational in the slightest, she keenly felt the distance from the Englishwoman. She couldn't help but wonder what Helena was doing. No doubt she had reached London already and was checking into her hotel. Probably exhausted, she'd tumble into bed...Myka winced. Thinking about Helena and bed in the same sentence only led to naughty thoughts.

Myka shook her head in response to Pete's question. "No, I'm not pissed at that – or at all really," she said quietly. She glanced over and saw that the teenaged boy on Pete's right side had fallen asleep, his PSP perched precariously in his lap. Most of the passengers seemed to be sleeping. "Just a little...unsettled."

"About the assignment?" Pete prodded gently.

Myka nodded – that much wasn't a lie. She was well within reason to be nervous about the task given to the four of them. "This is dangerous, Pete. I mean, know we deal with this sort of thing all the time – but it's different. From what little information we've been given, these guys are seriously big players."

"We've dealt with big-shots before – surely you haven't forgotten about Sykes already?"

Myka shook her head again. "Of course not." How could she? The bastard had ordered Marcus Diamond to kill Steve. "I don't know, I can't quite put my finger on it. I'm just...nervous."

"I know," Pete said simply.

Myka raised her eyebrows. "You know? How can you know when I don't know?"

"Well, I do happen to know things," Pete pointed out – a slight hint of affront in his voice. "Sometimes, I know more than you-"

"I'm sorry, Pete." She pressed her fingers to her temples. "I didn't mean-"

"Hey, shut up while a guy's trying to talk would you?" he said, a grin now tugging at his lips. It was gone quickly as he managed an expression that was almost serious. "The thing is, this time around you and I aren't the ones sticking ourselves out on a limb. We're sitting back, observing, while Cain and Helena take the real risks."

_You're even cleverer than you think_, Myka thought as a dim light bulb burned into existence in her mind.

"What I can't work out is whether you're pissed off at having to play second fiddle to them, or it's something else altogether."

"Why would I be pissed off? You and I can't waltz up to Wilde. He'd recognise us, or at least one of his henchmen might. The game would be up before it even started. Cain is already in, and unless anyone happened to look at a centuries old Wells family portrait, they won't know who Helena is."

"So it's something else?" Pete suggested, arching an eyebrow.

_Yeah_. Myka felt like letting out a hefty sigh but she reined it in. _It's what you've hinted at...and so much more_. She turned to stare out of the window for a moment, losing herself in the blackness of night. This was ridiculous. They were heading towards a crucial assignment, one that could have wide reaching ramifications for the Warehouse, and she was reduced to less than fully functional by her crush on Helena G. Wells. There was a rustling of foil beside her. She turned to see Pete holding out his bag of peanuts.

"You want some nuts?" Pete asked.

Myka shook her head. "No thanks, Pete. I don't want any nuts."

"A piece of fruit? Juice? Late night G and T?" he persisted.

Myka continued to shake her head to each of his helpful suggestions. She was definitely hungry, there was no doubt about that, but the thought of putting food in her stomach made her feel queasy. Alcohol was definitely out of the question. Eventually she drew a deep breath in an attempt to restore some calm and prepare herself. _It's now or never, Bering_, she thought determinedly. She knew she hadn't exactly picked the best moment. They were sandwiched into narrow seats in the midst of sleeping strangers. There were also relatively few places she could hide if the conversation turned to custard. _For fuck's sake, it's never going to be a good time. Stop making excuses. _

"I just want to tell you something," she said after a lengthy pause.

Pete had poured the rest of the nuts directly from the bag into his mouth. Upon picking up the serious note in Myka's voice, he quickly crumpled the empty packet and stuffed it into the seat pocket in front of him. He chewed quickly and composed his own face into something approaching a sombre expression. "You know I'm listening, Mykes."

"When I apologised to you the other day, in the Pete cave, I didn't exactly tell you the whole truth about why I've been acting like a prat for the past few months," Myka said in a rush. She tried to slow herself down before carrying on "To be honest, for quite some time now, I've been struggling with something that has been affecting my work, my friends...all because I can't be honest about how I feel. Pete, I-"

Myka's voice stopped abruptly. She couldn't force out those last few important words. Pete was sitting next to her, his face a mask of calm reassurance. There was no element of impatience or judgement in his expression. He was just Pete. Yet the whole confession thing was just so damn hard. She clasped her hands together in her lap, squeezing until they were bone white on top and fiery pink where they were jammed together.

She tried again without meeting his eyes. "Pete, I'm in love with Helena."

Pete didn't say anything and she couldn't look up. For a few awful moments she thought that he had reacted badly. She sat and imagined his jovial face twisting into a sneer of contempt. However his hand appeared at the edge of her vision, reaching out towards her. He wrapped his own fingers around her clasped hands, giving them a gentle squeeze.

"Yeah, I know," he replied simply.

Myka let the words sink in for a moment. When they did, she turned to look at him incredulously. "You knew? How?"

"Well, I'd like to say that I got this awesome Pete vibe and knew instinctively, but I didn't guess at all. It was Clauds. She watched the two of you together...and just knew." His brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Women are kinda scary in that way."

"Women are scary full-stop," Myka muttered quietly. She gave Pete a long, steady look. "So you're not freaked out by this? I mean, it's H.G Wells. She's a woman and..."

"I think we've all gotten over the fact that H.G tried to destroy the world – well, not sweep under the run kind of forget but 'give the lady another chance' kind of forget," Pete explained. "And you know I wouldn't have the slightest problem with the fact that she's a woman because – besides the obvious –" He gave a little grin that indicated exactly what he was thinking "- I don't care who you love, Mykes. As long as you're happy. You've been a sad sack for so long, I'd be over the moon if you could actually be happy again. If H.G floats your boat, go for it."

"What if I don't float her boat?" Myka asked plaintively.

Pete offered a shrug. "You can only try...or, you can just ignore it and go on being miserable."

"My timing's not exactly the greatest. We're on an assignment and Helena is in the thick of it. I'm scared for her, Pete," Myka admitted. "Any number of things could go wrong."

"She's a big girl, and we'll be there to back her up," Pete replied confidently. "We've both seen H.G in action, she's definitely capable of handling herself."

"Most definitely," Myka replied in a soft, wistful voice. The first thought that came into her mind was being wrapped in Helena's arm as she hoisted them to safety with her grappler. She remembered the underlying strength beneath Helena's lithe frame and the unexplained longing she had felt when she let her go. The further she dwelt on this thought, the warmer her cheeks grew.

"Is that a little bit of lust I detect in your voice, Ms Bering?" Pete teased.

"No," Myka replied quickly – almost guiltily. "Just...curiosity."

Pete grinned but quickly wiped it off his face. "So, any thoughts on how to proceed? With the wooing I mean?"

Myka raised her eyebrows. "Wooing, Pete? Seriously?"

He shrugged. "Maybe you should just kiss her? If she likes it, well, hotness ensues, and if she doesn't...well, at least you have your answer quickly. It might just be a little embarrassing."

"Pete! I'm not going to walk up to H.G Wells and plant one on her!" Myka hissed.

"Why not?" a voice piped up from the otherside of Pete. Both he and Myka turned to see the teenage boy – who had supposedly been asleep - with a grin on his face. "It'd be freakin' hot."

"Go back to playing with your...whatchamacallit!" Pete said to the nosey kid, gesturing to the PSP in his lap.

Her cheeks an even brighter red, Myka returned to staring out of the window. She felt better for having told Pete, but still uneasy. She had an ally, but it didn't offer her any real answers about solving the problem.

"Hey." Pete poked her gently in the arm.

Myka turned to see him holding up his arm in invitation for her to lean against him. She gratefully did so, snuggling contently against his warm body as he wrapped his arm around her.

"Thanks, Pete."

"We'll figure something out. Between your brains and my errr...skills, we'll get the lovely Miss Wells into your arms."

Myka wasn't entirely convinced, but she found an amused smile floating across her lips all the same. Nestled against Pete's side, she closed her eyes. For the first time since they had boarded the plane, her mind was quiet enough to allow her to drift off to sleep.

* * *

With a stiff neck and an urgent need to stretch her legs, Myka shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat of their tiny hire car. She and Pete were parked down a non-descript side-street in an exclusive London suburb. The particular address they were observing was a few houses down and had seen a steady stream of fashionably attired people arriving for the past half an hour. It was an address of one of Herodotus Wilde's associates and tonight was playing host to a select gathering of people - a pre-auction party of sorts. Jonathan Cain had found the invitation waiting for him on his return to London. It meant he and Helena had less than a day to prepare. Arriving several hours after the pair travelling first-class, Pete and Myka had barely had time to check into their hotel let alone find time to sleep. It was short notice, but essential that they attend. It would be Helena's first chance to meet Wilde.

"Okay, the first class thing I could deal with, but this is not at all fair," Myka said unhappily.

"Coffee?" Pete held out a thermos and an empty cup towards her.

Myka shook her head. The last thing she wanted was to have to use a dark lane somewhere to relieve herself. She could spend hours sitting down reading a book but this was different. Cooped up in a car with nothing to do except watch and listen to Pete's helpful suggestions about winning Helena over. It was an extremely one-sided conversation. Mostly Pete talked and she shot him down every now and then with a firm word. She drew the line at discussing some things with her best friend, and her potential sex life was one of them.

"For the last time, Pete," Myka growled in answer to another of his questions. "I'm not discussing what two women do in bed together. I know you are incredibly well versed in the subject, but I'm not really for this conversation."

The barest mention of fingers or tongues was enough to stir up an immediate and uncomfortable reaction between her legs. The thought that those appendages belonged to Helena, was even worse. She crossed her legs awkwardly in her seat and stubbornly stared out of the window. Her eyes suddenly widened.

"Wait a minute, Pete, that's Wilde there. Stepping out of the silver Audi." Myka clearly remembered the photo in the folder of information Cain had provided. Her discomfort was forgotten almost immediately.

"Nice wheels," Pete commented.

Myka wasn't looking at the car, she was studying the man. Despite the distance that separated them, she could see that he was an extremely well-built man. The photo had not shown his commanding physical presence. He looked to be over six foot in height with close cropped dark hair and a lean physique. She knew from the photo that he was moderately handsome, perhaps even more. Claudia had certainly given a low whistle of appreciation upon seeing his features, Myka did not consider herself qualified to make such an assessment – especially given that she was already predisposed to loathe the man by virtue of what he did. As he entered the house, he was flanked by two men – both wearing dark sunglasses despite the fact it was seven pm.

Myka and Pete watched until Wilde had disappeared inside. The silver Audi drove away, no doubt the driver would be returning at a later time to retrieve its passenger.

"I wouldn't like to take that guy in a fight," Pete observed, taking another sip of his coffee. "Did you see the way he moved?"

Myka shrugged. "He just seemed tall."

"The guy moved like he owned everything around him – kind of like a boxer. He's definitely not what I expected. He looks as though he should be collecting something other than historical artifacts."

"I agree with you there," Myka replied. "Are you sure we should just let Helena and Cain go in there?"

"Hey, Cain knows the guy, they'll be fine. Any problems, we're just a Farnsworth call away," Pete tapped the little device sitting in the cup holder between them.

"And what are we going to do about it? Go in there, Tesla's blazing?" Myka demanded.

Pete lifted his hands in surrender. "This isn't an international arms deal, Mykes. It's just a party. I'm sure Cain wouldn't have suggested they attend if it was that dangerous."

"I'm not entirely sure," Myka replied thoughtfully.

"I thought you liked him?"

"I do, it's just that...well, how well do we actually know him?"

"The Regents trust him, my Mom trusts him," Pete said firmly, as if that was all the proof he needed.

Myka still wasn't convinced, but a large part of her knew it was because she was worried. Pete was still talking when she saw a black London cab pull up outside the address. Several such vehicles had already been and gone, but Myka immediately recognised Jonathan Cain step out. The Englishman was wearing a smart but casual suit.

"Hey, that's our team," Pete said before she could open her mouth.

Once Cain was fully out of the taxi, he turned and extended his hand. A pale, slender arm emerged from the taxi, Cain grasped it and helped Helena Wells to her feet.

Myka let out a sudden, spluttering gasp as the Englishwoman stood on the pavement wearing a full length red dress. Despite the fact that she had probably chosen it in haste, the dress clung to Helena's figure perfectly – accentuating her curves in all the right places without being overly daring. When she moved, Myka saw that it was split up one side, revealing more than a hint of pale, slender leg. Helena then turned her head, almost looking directly at their car. Her hair hung down around her shoulders, framing her face and pale chest. The dress was cut low enough to show off a decent amount of cleavage, more than enough to send Myka's heart into palpitations.

"I am so gay right now," she whispered.

She saw Cain's lips move as he spoke to Helena. This made her look quickly away from the car. He linked her arm in his own and together they walked up the stairs to the party. Myka watched her walk, the way the folds of the dress moved over Helena's arse held her memorised. She let out a disappointed breath when the pair disappeared inside. When she turned to look at Pete, he was regarding her with a bemused smile on his face.

"What?" she snapped.

"You've got it bad," he remarked in a pleased voice.

"Shut up," she muttered, returning to staring out the window. Barring cramp in her limbs, she would remain in that position until Helena emerged safe and sound in a few hours time. She tried to tell herself that it was only because she was worried for Helena, not because she wanted to catch another glimpse of her wearing the red dress.

* * *

Without consciously being aware of what she was doing, Helena found her gaze wandering as soon as she exited the taxi. She ignored the stern expression on Cain's face and turned her entire body, the ridiculous red dress flowing about her as she did so. She didn't know exactly where Pete and Myka would be, there were any number of cars parked along the street. The combination of darkness and glare from street lamps meant that she could not see into most of them. However, just the knowledge that Myka was somewhere out there restored the measure of confidence that was stripped away by the dress she'd chosen. Given the lack of time to choose anything decent, she'd simply gone into a store recommended by the hotel and asked the assistant to find something that would suit her. The resulting choice was the red dress that revealed far more skin than she was accustomed. She had difficulty explaining as much to the gushing assistant who though it looked perfect on her – just how did one explain about growing up in Victorian England?

She felt a gentle touch on her arm and turned to see Cain giving her a stern look. "Remember what we are walking into, Miss Wells."

Mollified that she was already failing at the undercover gig, Helena accepted his arm and allowed herself to be led inside.

As with most upper-class London townhouses, it was far more spacious inside than it appeared externally. As she walked into the tastefully decorated foyer, Helena could not help but feel as though she was entering another world altogether – one she had not walked in for over a century. An inconspicuous man wearing a sharp suit nodded towards Cain as he entered – clearly being on the guest list was simply a case of being known.

They followed the rest of the small crowd, moving through into an elegant reception room. The fashion had changed, but otherwise it was much the same as gatherings Helena had attended as a young woman. Although the Wells' had been very much of the middle class, she had come to feel at home moving in other circles. It had been rather effortless in those days, merely about keeping up the pretence that you were just another harmless woman as opposed to an intellectually mind scholar, inventor and author. Much the same at she now found herself doing – she was a pretty face once again, here to be seen and admired.

"Ah, Mr Cain is it not?"

They both turned to the greeting of a rather portly looking man with a young blonde woman on his arm. Jonathan flashed a charming smile that had the couple reacting in very different ways. Clearly the man did not recognise the warm flush in the young woman's cheeks for what it was as he took Cain's hand and pumped it enthusiastically.

"Kincaide, a pleasure as always. I must say your home is impressive," Cain responded, his voice dripping with charm. "This must be your lovely wife? Mrs Kincaide, it is a delight."

He took the blonde's hand for the briefest moment and she gave a rather airy giggle. "Please, call me Kathy."

Helena had to refrain from rolling her eyes as Cain turned to introduce her. "This is my good friend and guest for the evening, Miss Helena Wells. Miss Wells, this is Gordon Kincaide, a close friend of Mr Wilde's."

"Did I hear my name being spoken?"

Both Helena and Cain turned at the sound of a newcomer to the small circle of conversation. Helena did not need any introductions to know that she was staring into the chiselled visage of Mr Herodotus Wilde himself in all his charming, perfectly groomed glory.

"Kitty Kat, do be a dear and fetch Mr Cain and his guest a glass of champagne won't you?"

"Yes of course, darling H," Kathy Kincaide murmured, bestowing a smile on Wilde that was even more dizzyingly vapid than the one she had given Cain.

"Cain!" Wilde almost boomed in his velvety voice. "Where have you been hiding this one?"

Cain smiled in response. "This is Miss Helena Wells, a close friend and associate of mine."

Wilde raised his eyebrows expectantly. "A friend?"

"Just a friend," Helena replied for herself, watching as the gleam in Wilde's eyes became even more pronounced. She lifted her hand towards him and he took it, wrapping it in a firm grip. "Charmed, Mr Wilde. Jonathan has told me a great deal about you."

He merely brushed his lips against the back of her hand before letting it fall. Helena could not help but respond with a smile, he really was every bit as charming as his dossier had suggested – very much the ladies man. She could not help but notice the strength in the way he moved, the gentle dominance he had over the following conversation between the men of their small group. Much like Cain, he would have been the sort of man the old Helena could have fallen for – at least until she came to know him better and found out his unusual hobby.

Kathy Kincaide returned with two flutes of champagne, pressing them into their hands, smiling again at Jonathan and complementing Helena on her dress. Kathy herself was wearing a shining silvery number that left even less to the imagination than the red dress Helena wore. Helena had to wonder whether Gordon, her husband, was aware of her odd relationship with Herodotus Wilde. Although she had known the woman for barely a few minutes, she could sense the physical relationship they had shared – or still shared.

"If you'll excuse me, Cain...Miss Wells, I spy someone I need to speak to, but I hope you will grant me an audience later?"

"Of course," Helena said, smiling sweetly.

She and Cain moved away from the entrance, giving the Kincaide's the opportunity to greet their other guests and them the opportunity to observe from a slight distance. Helena took a sip of the icy champagne, savouring it as it slipped down her throat in a silky motion. She drank alcohol rarely, but could tell that it was very expensive.

Trying to refrain from glancing down to confirm that her bosom was not falling out of the dress, Helena scanned the crowd. The room was not overly full, there were perhaps two dozen guests – a mixture of men and woman. Although most of the latter appeared to be window dressing, she could tell that there were a few who were there on business. They were sharp eyed, giving everyone a wary look over the top of the champagne glasses.

"It is a disparate group," Helena remarked to Cain as they stood slightly apart.

"But they all have two things in common," Cain replied. "A lot of money and a passion for collecting things they should not be allowed to own – objects that should by rights be within the walls of the Warehouse."

"Who do you think has the most interest in winning the auction?" Helena murmured, taking another sip of her drink.

"They all have interest in winning the auction, whether they have the money or the balls to actually see it through are the real questions. Kincaide, our host, I suspect doesn't quite have the latter. I have personally seen his collection. Small things, all completely harmless." Cain discreetly scanned the crowd. He inclined his head in the direction of a tall, razor thin man. Completely bald and with a piercing gaze, Helena was instantly unnerved by him.

"He on the other hand, does have the balls?" Helena suggested.

Cain nodded. "Viktor Stefanov – not entirely sure about the money though. I have not seen his collection, but it is rumoured that he favours items of torture

"Like Tokomata's chain," Helena whispered.

"Yes, much in that vein. Try to stay away from that one, Miss Wells. Besides, I think perhaps he would not be interested in the Cecil-Gibson cache. Few of the artifacts are to his tastes."

Helena did not need to make any promises on that front, she intended to maintain her distance from Viktor Stefanov at all costs. She pitied the woman at his side, but upon further examination she looked every bit as hard and distasteful. A fitting pair.

Cain pointed out a few more of the key players in Wilde's circle who were among the likely successful bidders for the cache. In addition to Kincaide and Stefanov, there was Allan Yao, a small Asian man who did not give off the slightest air of discomfort. According to Cain, Yao owned a major telecommunications firm in Hong Kong and was undoubtedly the richest man in the room. If he wanted it badly enough, then the cache could be his. However, only slightly less wealthy was an American, Tony Izzo. The dark-haired, stocky fellow had a woman on each arm and a disarming grin. A series of large casinos across the American Midwest was the source of his wealth.

"Then we come to that individual there, the woman standing by the bronze in middle of the far wall."

Helena stiffened slightly at the mention of the word 'bronze' but followed Cain's suggestion. She saw a stunningly beautiful redhead, her hair and pale skin setting off the olive green dress she wore. Everything about her was perfectly controlled. Not a hair was out of place in her sleek coiffure and she held a glass of orange juice as opposed to wine.

"Saskia Carmody – also has the money and the balls...and possibly even more motive than anyone else in this room," Cain pointed out.

"How so?" Helena asked, quite intrigued.

"She and Wilde loathe each other with a passion. I think she would view buying the collection as something of a triumph."

"Why the mutual loathing?" Helena asked. "I would have thought her to be the sort of person Wilde would get along with rather well on account of her...well, she is rather gorgeous."

"Yes, but she would sooner sleep with you than Wilde. You see, Ms Carmody is a lesbian...of the most ardent kind," Cain explained.

"Well, if she wasn't so ardent about it, then she would not be a lesbian," Helena replied effortlessly. Victorian England may have been extremely prudish and the term 'invert' far more likely to be applied than 'lesbian' but Helena had moved in the sorts of circles where the behaviour itself was present. It had never been accepted, but it merely entailed playing the game more skilfully than most. Helena had been very, very good.

"Well, whatever you want to call it, she wouldn't have a bar of Wilde's flirtations. I think he viewed it as an insult that she would dare turn him down, and they have settled comfortably into their respective roles ever since. I should think if it came down to Ms Carmody winning the auction then that may work out very well in our favour."

Helena frowned. "What would make you say that, Mr Cain?"

"Your focus can simply shift from Wilde to Ms Carmody. You don't have a problem with seducing a woman do you, Miss Wells?" Cain asked, turning to give her a rather inquisitive stare. "She has thrown you several rather interested looks since we have been standing here."

_That is not the woman I am interested in seducing_, Helena thought, blatantly staring at Saskia Carmody across the room. Although the redhead was deep in conversation with another guest, she glanced up and met her gaze. The resulting smile that played across Saskia's lips was more than enough to drive Helena to drain her champagne flute dry. _Although Cain is quite right in his assessment. _"None whatsoever," she replied to Cain. "Although if Mrs Frederic had made me fully aware of the extent of my role in all of this then I may have elected to return to the Bronzer. If it comes down to that, I suggest Pete simply Tesla the woman and we take the key."

"You're not much fun are you, Miss Wells?"

"Being used simply for the accident of my appearance is hardly what I would term 'fun.' I'm playing the Regents little game, Mr Cain, for the simple fact that I have no desire to return to my Bronzed state – regardless of my candour about the prospect." If she was being truthful, her feelings on the subject were anything but frank. She was doing her utmost to mask her very real fear.

"Are The Regents really so cruel?"

His question mirrored Myka's shocked question of a few days earlier. Helena thought it odd that their own Agents did not full comprehend their dedication to preserving the sanctity of the Warehouse and its collections over everything else. All the evidence they needed had been when the barrier activated in response to the cannonball attack by Sykes and Diamond. There had been no escape route for any agents caught within its walls – they were in effect expendable. The artifacts were all that mattered.

"Be grateful you will return to MI5 at the conclusion of your assignment, Mr Cain. As a Warehouse Agent there is no health care or retirement plan, few perks other than free room and board, and the very real possibility of an early, probably messy death.

"That is the life you so desperately want back?" Cain asked incredulously.

"If my cooperation on this assignment earns their trust and grants my reinstatement to full, unrestricted Agent status, then I will be content. The Warehouse is my life, however short and cruel it may be," Helena replied honestly. Despite the deception around her first reinstatement, Helena had felt sincere when she told Myka that working for the Warehouse was all that kept her going. With hopes of anything ever happening between her and Myka disappearing, it truly was all she had left.

Helena's bleak outlook was interrupted by the sudden appearance of a full glass beneath her nose. When she looked up she found herself face to face with a smiling Herodotus Wilde.

"I see your glass is all the way empty, Miss Wells," he said as he removed her empty glass and bade her take the full one.

"A situation which you have conveniently rectified," Helena said as she took the proffered champagne. "Thank you."

Wilde turned to Cain. "I do believe Launder wanted a word with you, old chap. You can leave Miss Wells in my capable hands."

Cain nodded. Before he left, he flashed Helena an almost imperceptible glance. Too many things were wrapped up in that one look for Helena to make much sense of it, but she gathered that first and foremost he was telling her to play along as opposed to being careful.

"Why have I not seen you before, Helena? May I call you Helena?"

"Let's just leave it at Miss Wells for a while yet shall we?" Helena suggested, doing her best to keep her keep her voice as coy as possible.

Wilde inclined his head, a pleased smile flitting across his lips. "Miss Wells it is."

Helena took a long sip of champagne to fortify her nerves. "I live in America, and have done for sometime. Jonathan and I are family friends with mutual interests."

"Mutual interests?" Wilde asked. "I do not usually engage in speculation, but I would hazard a guess that these interests would have to do with an interest I also share."

Helena nodded. "I would not be here otherwise. Although I am not a collector like yourself, more of a broker if you will."

"Might you permit me to show you something?" he suggested.

Loathe to go anywhere alone with Wilde, Helena nevertheless nodded. As she followed the tall man out of the reception room, she cast a glance back over her shoulder to hopefully catch Cain's eyes. Her partner however was nowhere to be seen.

Obviously familiar with Kincaide's home, Wilde led her through into a charming library. With its high shelves and dark wood panelling, it reminded Helena of the library in her own home. It had been over a century earlier but the tastes had changed little – after all, books were still books. A glass panelled case was installed in the centre of one of the shelves. Having worked with artifacts for so many years, Helena knew not to dismiss the seemingly ordinary looking trinkets on display beneath the subtle but expensive lighting. Forgetting that Wilde even existed for a moment, she was drawn towards the case. There were only half a dozen objects contained within, all small, easily portable. The largest was an ornate silver photo frame that contained nothing but an inky blackness within.

"Elizabeth Taylor's photo frame," Wilde commented as she stared at it. "Pick it up and it shows you the person you desire most. I would be incredibly fascinated to learn who it would show for you, Miss Wells."

_I don't need an artifact to tell me that_, Helena thought wistfully. The only real question was whether the visualisation of the Myka she carried in her mind would be wearing clothes or not. _Not that I have the foggiest idea what she looks like naked..._

"I couldn't begin to guess," Helena replied tactfully.

Besides the photo frame, there was a thin metallic tube which Helena thought looked suspiciously like mascara, a traditional Japanese netsuke carved in a shape of a rabbit, an incredibly worn cricket ball, a pair of flight goggles and a non descript little black book. Each no doubt would have a fascinating story associated with them, power of their own, but separated by the glass Helena could feel none of it.

Helena turned only to find Wilde standing directly behind her. "They are lovely, are they not?" he asked.

Wilde pressed close – too close - somehow managing to effortlessly manoeuvre his thigh between her own. As he pressed forward in an intimate manner Helena shrank backwards, any trace of her usual confidence having fled altogether. The skin left bare by the red dress hit the cold glass of the display case and she realised there was nowhere left to go.

"They are indeed," her voice squeaked ineffectually.

"But not the loveliest thing in this room, not by a long way," he murmured, one hand rising to stroke the side of her face.

The contact was surprisingly gentle, but it still made her skin crawl. She closed her eyes, knowing that it would appear as if she was enjoying the contact. In actual fact, she was buying herself time to think. It was a situation that left her impressive intellect at a loss. Her physical solution would have been to drive her knee up into the bulging groin pressing against her and then elbow him in a throat. While it wouldn't be enough to do any lasting harm, it would enable her to make her escape. It would however do absolutely no favours for their assignment. She opened her eyes.

"Mr Wilde," Helena protested gently, trying to keep any trace of panic from creeping into her voice. "I do not know what kind of woman you think I am, but you will soon learn that I am nothing like your _friend_ Mrs Kincaide. You will not win the game that easily."

His eyes searched her face to gage her intentions. Helena maintained a level stare in response. His expression shifted to one of piqued interest and he took a few steps back, letting her breathe and allowing her to move away from the wall.

"My sincerest apologies, Miss Wells," Wilde said, his voice sounding anything but apologetic. "I hope that this misunderstanding will not set the tone for our future meetings."

"It is already in the past," Helena replied graciously.

As she slipped past him, she half expected his arm to shoot out and catch her in a vice-like grip. However there was no violence in any of his actions, only lust. As Helena gave him a shaky smile and left the room, she supposed that lust was a form of violence – especially when taken too far. The extent of what she had been asked to do was only now just beginning to sink in, and it was making her skin crawl. Instead of making her way to the bathroom to compose herself, she headed back into the main reception room. A few of the guests glanced towards her, but most were still deep in conversation. She scanned the crowd and found Cain talking to a pair of men she did not recognise. Helena marched over, offering no apologies as she drew Cain away mid-sentence.

"We're leaving, now!" Helena growled in a low voice.

Jonathan Cain looked at her strangely, unflustered by her outburst. He calmly took her by the arm and steered her further away from any groups within the room.

Helena felt sharp nails digging into the tender flesh of her arm as Cain gripped it. "We can leave, but you will be civil to Wilde on our departure," he demanded. "You must!"

"Bollocks!" Helena spat. "I'd sooner kick the bastard in the balls."

She wrenched her arm out of Cain's grip, trying to keep her movements discreet and to a minimum. However in her worked up state it was decidedly difficult.

Cain leaned in close, his breath falling heatedly on her face. "Miss Wells...Helena, if you fuck this up then I will personally see to it that the Regents Rebronze you. I've not worked on this damn assignment for so long only to have you come along and ruin everything. I'm not asking you to sleep with him, I'm asking you to smile sweetly and bat your bloody lashes at him."

"Somehow I don't think that's going to satisfy him," Helena replied darkly. "Can we just get the hell out of here? I haven't slept in twenty-four hours and if he touches me again I'm going to break his fingers."

With great effort, Helena forced herself to put on a perfectly pleasant mask as they walked arm in arm towards Wilde and Kincaide. She loathed the possessive expression on Wilde's face as she approached. It was as though the deal had already been signed.

"Must you depart?'" Wilde asked, reaching out to take her hand in his own. "I know of this fantastic tapas bar, we could retreat there if that is more to your liking?"

Helena noted that he did not direct the question towards Cain at all. She forced herself to remain calm, lest her palm become clammy in his grip. "No, I have an early appointment tomorrow which I must keep. It has however been a lovely evening."

"A shame, but I am quite sure we will be seeing you again soon, Miss Wells, and not just on business matters?" Wilde suggested as his eyebrows rose expectantly – almost insistently.

"I have no doubt," Helena replied, trying to keep the revulsion from appearing on her face.

She managed to maintain her perfect smile, even as she felt his lips press against the back of her hand. With her parting, hopefully radiant smile feeling like more of a grimace, Helena made her exit. Behind her, Jonathan Cain said a few platitudes to Wilde. It was clear that in bringing Helena to the party, he'd increased his standing in Wilde's eyes tenfold at least. She did not wait for him, sweeping past the other guests and out of the door.

Helena had never felt so grateful to be outside in the cool night air. A taxi was already waiting for them, parked just in front of a silver Audi. As she reached the bottom of the steps, she had to stop herself short to avoid colliding with a passing pedestrian on the residential street. When she glanced up and caught he woman's eyes, she had to fight to avoid letting out a strangled gasp. It was Myka. What was only a few seconds in reality felt like an eternity in Helena's mind. She did not recognise the emotion in Myka's eyes as their gaze met – it was something she had not seen before. It was both intriguing and unnerving at the same time. Whatever it was, Helena wanted desperately to find out what it was, then and there. However, for appearances sake, they were just two strangers passing on the street. It was all she could do to murmur a word of apology for nearly having colliding with her. Myka inclined her head slightly and continued on her way.

_I will not turn my head_, Helena vowed to herself as she fought the urge to turn and watch Myka walk away. She reached the door of the taxi which the driver was holding open for her. In the moment before she ducked her head to enter, Helena gave in to temptation. Her head turned at the precise moment that Myka looked back over her shoulder. It was a smouldering split second of longing, over all too abruptly as Helena felt a hand on her back. Someone ushered her quickly into the taxi. She complied but her heart was pacing rapidly as she folded herself into the seat. Cain slipped in after her, a stormy expression on his face.

"What the devil did Bering think she was doing?" he growled.

He turned and gave Helena a steady look. She ducked her head and looked away, worried that he would notice the red flush in her cheeks and somehow find out that her heart was hammering at a million miles a minute.

"Stretching her legs?" Helena suggested archly. She was unable to look at Cain but the thought of him thinking that Myka was anything less than a consummate professional was something she couldn't stand.

"No doubt," Cain muttered, his voice calmer. "I am sorry about what I said in there, Miss Wells. It was not my intention to alarm you."

Helena still refused to look at him. "That's quite alright."

Cain cleared his throat awkwardly. "You must understand, our deception is all that matters if we're to have any chance of recovering the stolen artifacts. If I have to lie and pretend to be someone I'm not to gain that man's trust, then I will. This is the life that I have been living and I react severely if I think anything is threatening my cover. In blending myself in to their circle, I have become something I abhor."

The sincerely apologetic tone in his voice finally drove Helena to turn and meet his gaze. Cain managed a short smile. Remembering his nails digging into her flesh, she could not respond with one of her own. However she nodded in a gesture of acceptance.

"I do not ask you to compromise yourself in any way, Miss Wells, but the further you can gain his trust, the more we will be able to use your relationship to our advantage. It may well be the only advantage we end up having," he continued.

While her initial reaction to taking on the role of the 'strumpet' had been negative, Helena had not fully understood the extent of her part. Now that she had met Herodotus Wilde and seen the sort of man he was, she was beginning to realise that it could delve into territory she had not been willing to consider. Her mouth set into a grim line. In her past life she had thoroughly enjoyed sex, far more so than was appropriate for a woman of her class. Occasionally she had even used it as a tool to get what she wanted, but it was always based on a least a mutual fondness with her lover. While Wilde clearly had designs on her, she had absolutely no desire to let him get what he wanted. Besides, her past life was not her present. She had taken no lover since her de-bronzing. There had only been her awkward, unfulfilled fantasies about Myka Bering. Who was to say that those fantasies would ever become a reality?

Helena turned to look out of the window of the taxi, watching London's dark streets roll by. "Rest assured, Mr Cain, I am prepared to play my part," she said in a quiet voice.


	7. Oh Look, Biscuits!

**Chapter Seven**  
**Oh Look, Biscuits!**

Myka instantly recognised the seemingly insubstantial blue light hanging in front of her. She had seen it before. Despite her instincts, she knew that there was no point in reaching out to touch it as she would find it to be a solid, impenetrable wall. Instead her gaze went past the light to the woman standing beyond. Myka lingered on the sadly smiling face of Helena Wells. Despite the fact that Pete and Artie were standing with her, Helena had eyes only for her. The emotion in that glance was so thick as to make it effortlessly palpable. It was an emotion Myka struggled to recognise at first because she had so seldom seen it in the eyes of another person. Her eyes widened slightly when she realised that it was love. With the realisation came the overwhelming desire to force her way through the barrier that separated them. For a few moments Myka did not quite know what she would do if such a thing was even possible. However, faced with the instinctual knowledge that anyone outside the barrier would die, Myka knew that she would seek out Helena's lips to share their first and only kiss. Her fingers went to her lips, imagining them pressed against Helena's. She already knew that the moment would be perfect._ Dying would suck, but if it happened while kissing Helena..._

Full consciousness came gradually. Before Myka's eyes opened she felt the tips of her fingers pressed against her lips, just as they had been in her dream. She allowed them to linger there for a minute, even caressing them slightly. Her imagination was a poor substitute for the real thing, but it was all she had. Any scenario that would see Helena Wells lying in the bed next to her, just a hands reach away, seemed fanciful to say the least. Reluctantly, Myka peeled her eyes open. The time, spelt out in red next to her bed, showed that she had not even slept for an hour. Her London hotel room was still shrouded in the inky black darkness of early morning save for the thin, hazy gleam of city street lights seeping through the gaps in the curtains. The repetition of the dream was disconcerting. Myka seldom dreamt about such similar scenarios more than once (excepting of course the frequent dream she'd had whilst at college – of turning up to class naked). She never wanted to be in a position where she would have to watch someone she cared about sacrifice their life to save her own. However, everything about the dream had seemed real – especially the sincerity of the emotion in Helena's eyes. In her sleepy state, Myka absently fantasised about the possible existence of those emotions. It was preposterous to say the least, but the irrational part of her mind (which was most of it these days) speculated that she could have been picking up on actual vibes. She stretched out her hand, fumbling for her bedside table in the darkness. Her fingers felt around, narrowly avoiding knocking the lamp over before she could turn it on. Her Farnsworth was lying atop the table. With a darting movement, she reached out and picked up the small, solid device. With a pounding heart, she flipped it open. _I can't believe I'm actually considering this_, Myka thought. _It's a hairsbreadth short of lunacy_.

However before she could do the sensible thing and shove the Farnsworth in the bedside drawer, Myka stabbed her fingers quickly on the buttons that would connect her through to Helena's own device. There were a few heartbeats where she still had time to cut the call off before went through or Helena had time to answer, but she stubbornly held the Farnsworth in a white-knuckled grip. _She's probably asleep, as I should be. Hang-up, Myka-_

Her rambling internal conversation was abruptly cut off when the small screen flickered into life. Myka's pounding heart stopped just as abruptly at the sight of Helena's face framed in the palm of her hand. With her brain functioning slowly, it took a moment or two before she realised that Helena was still wearing her red dress and make up – every bit as gorgeous as Myka had seen her a few hours earlier. It was then that Myka realised she had not thought to check her own appearance – having just woken up, her hair was probably a veritable bush atop her head. It was too late. All she could do was act her best to appear nonchalant.

"Myka?" The surprise was evident in Helena's voice as was her concern. "Has something happened? Is everything okay?"

_Of course she would think something is wrong, I'm calling her at 1am!_ Myka began by shaking her head slowly, mostly to buy herself a little time. "Everything's fine. I-I..." _Just wanted to let you know how gorgeous you looked tonight in that red dress. And I don't mean gorgeous in the way that one woman can complement another, I mean crazy, sexy hot. _"I-I wanted to apologise for what happened tonight. I could have screwed everything up by taking that stupid walk."

Helena's initial response was one of obvious surprise. Her beautiful brow creased slightly as she stared at Myka through the Farnsworth. "Oh…Myka, I…" Her voice trailed off as she was unsure of how best to continue.

_Oh my god, she thinks I'm a complete and utter moron. I'm calling her in the small hours of the morning to apologise for something so trivial_. Myka immediately began contemplating ways to extract herself from the conversation and save some shred of her dignity. "I'm so sorry, Helena. Nothing has happened save my own idiocy. I'm sorry for disturbing you. I-I-" _Oh holy shit, she's smiling at me. _All rational or intelligent thoughts were completely driven from Myka's befuddled brain. She was left as a shell of a person, capable only of gaping like a stunned mullet.

"To tell the truth, Myka, I was incredibly pleased to see you," Helena eventually said.

"You were?" Myka asked.

"Yes." Helena actually found a small laugh bubbling from the back of her throat. Myka's stunned expression was exceedingly endearing. After the daggered looks and cold-as-winter smiles that she had endured for much of the evening, it was a refreshing change. "You were a friendly face in the midst of all those people and a timely reminder that I was not alone in that house – I had friends outside."

"And Cain on the inside surely?" Myka added – although it was very difficult to say anything coherent as she was feeling quite giddy.

Helena's smile slowly but surely vanished. "Yes, and Cain on the inside."

Myka could have effortlessly listened to Helena Wells talking all night, or even simply just stared at her face on the Farnsworth's screen. However she had to remind herself that such behaviour was just plain odd – even slightly crazy. "You should get some sleep, Helena. You look tired."

Helena knew she looked more than tired. She was surprised Myka had not already picked up on her slightly puffy eyes. While she would not stoop to weeping like some pitiful wretch, she had nevertheless felt the stabbing needles of tears in her eyes. It was all ridiculous of course. There were far more traumatic events in her past than a mere cocktail party and yet she had felt thoroughly defeated as Cain walked her to her hotel room. She could not wait to be rid of the man, barely saying farewell before closing the door in his face. The wide bed had seemed inviting enough, but she had tumbled onto it before bothering to get out of the dress. For some time afterwards, she found herself unable to do anything except stare at the ceiling and feel incredibly wretched. Then the Farnsworth had beeped insistently and her heart had started racing in fear. Upon seeing Myka's face, she had felt the urge to burst into actual tears. Thankfully they had not materialised, and Helena knew that she now had some chance of finding peace enough to sleep.

"A shower and a tot of rum first," Helena tried to inject some spark into her tone. She succeeded in finally drawing a tiny smile from Myka. It was just the merest curl of her lips, but Helena felt sure her cheeks were flushed with red in response. _And they're not all that's flushed, _she thought, suddenly aware of an inconvenient but delicious throb of desire in the pit of her stomach.

"Good night, Helena," Myka said, trying to keep any traces of reluctance from creeping into her voice.

"Good night," Helena said quietly. "Myka…"

Myka had been about to close the Farnsworth after Helena's 'good night' and she stopped herself. The way Helena's voice gently caressed her name sent shivers down her spine.

"Thank you," The Englishwoman said simply.

The other woman's smile lingered on the screen for just a split second before it vanished all too abruptly. Myka was left longingly staring at the blank screen of her Farnsworth for almost a minute. She eventually realised how foolishly she was behaving and snapped the device shut with determined finality. She tossed it carelessly to the bedside table, not caring when it clattered off the side and down to the floor. When she wrapped herself back up in the bed sheets, she stubbornly held onto the image of Helena in her head, hoping that it would remain with her throughout her dreams.

Helena's own path to bed was slightly more convoluted. She gently placed her Farnsworth down beside the bed, her hand lingering over the cold metal for a moment. A small sigh escaped her lips. She was dreadfully tired, but so far the only piece of her outfit she had managed to remove were her heels. When she rose from the bed, she found that the earlier stirrings of desire within her body had developed into something that was crying out for attention.

With a frustrated huff of air, Helena stripped the red dress from her shoulders. She let it slide down her body to pool at her feet and stepped away from it, leaving the expensive gown where it had fallen. "It's an icy cold shower for you, old girl," she informed herself. _When have you let one woman work you into such a state? _Thoroughly angry at her own body's reactions, Helena made straight for the bathroom.

However when she padded naked into the shower and turned the tap on, the blast of hot water was so invigorating that it banished any determination to torture herself with cold water. After a few minutes of just enjoying the flow of water, she started to scrub herself vigorously in an effort to wash away the evening's stenches. Wilde's hands on her had done nothing but stir a level of revulsion. Whereas a brief encounter with Myka and the subsequent Farnsworth conversation had left her with the start reminder that she had been celibate for an inordinately long time.

_Over one hundred years without taking a lover. Tis some kind of record surely. _

Although Helena initially allowed herself only a brief moment of frivolous thinking, she also inadvertently let her hand wander down over the firm plane of her stomach. Her hand caressed the wet skin for several moments, tracing delicate circles as she watched the rivulets of water slide down her body. Eventually her hand travelled lower. When the tips of her fingers brushed against the wet curls between her legs, she knew it was already too late to stop herself from going further. Two fingers slipped between her folds. Helena discovered that she was still very much aroused. At the first tentative stroke, she uttered a slight gasp. She slumped forward against the tiled wall of the shower and pressed both her forehead and left arm against the smooth surface. Her stance she widened until her feet were pressed against opposite walls of the shower stall. As the water continued to patter lightly on the back of her neck, she increased the pressure of her second and third strokes. At first she kept each one slow and languorous, but her aching need was far too great to allow such a sedate pace. Her fingers soon became slick with the evidence of her desire as they pumped in a desperate rhythm. The gasps from her own throat eventually drowned out the gentle sounds of the water.

When she came some minutes later, several hoarse cries emerged from her throat which may very well have been sobs. Her entire body sagged forward against the tiles as her legs had turned to jelly. Helena stood gasping beneath the water as the ripples of her climax gradually faded. The aftermath was bittersweet. While it had been pleasurable enough, the fact that she was still standing alone in a shower brought everything back into perspective.

Retaining the support of the wall, Helena turned so that her back was pressed against the tiles. She tilted her face up to the water and let it beat gently against her skin. With a sigh, Helena stood up straight and claimed the sponge again. Another scrubbing followed, this one even more vigorous than the first.

For all her discomfort over having given into her needs, when Helena eventually tumbled into bed she felt more at peace that she had for some time. When she closed her eyes, it was a peaceful, exhausted sleep that rapidly claimed her.

* * *

"You know, for an organisation with such an illustrious history as the Warehouse, the Regents could do with shelling out a little more cash on their premises," Pete remarked as he and Myka slipped into an appointed safe-house.

They were both staring up at a rundown flat above a greengrocer that appeared to have been closed for several decades. The store windows were boarded up and the advertising signs that remained all bore a Coke logo that Myka remembered from her childhood. Myka was suddenly grateful that their hotel, albeit modest, was in a far nicer part of London.

"Illustrious, that's a big word, Pete," Myka added snidely.

Together the two of them made their way down the dark alleyway that led behind the house. It was littered with an impressive accumulation of refuse – broken bottles, garbage bags that had obviously been torn open by the local wildlife and other unidentifiable substances.

"You're a bit irritable this morning," Pete said. They'd reach a heavy black door, liberally covered with graffiti and partially overgrown with ivy. He fished in his pocket for a set of keys. "Is everything okay?"

It had been four days since the cocktail party. Four days since her awkward late night conversation with Helena Wells. Myka had been dreading the moment that she would have to see the Englishwoman face to face. Although coupled with the dread was an odd sort of anticipation. Of course she wanted to see Helena, but it was tempered with the fact that her moment of stupidity had actually happened. It had not been the dream she wished it to be when she had woken up the next morning.

"I'm fine, honestly." Myka reached out and gave Pete a light touch on his shoulder. "Sorry. I didn't sleep well last night and that bacon roll we had for breakfast seems like days ago."

Given that it had taken them two changes on the tube and a bus ride to reach their destination, all at peak rush hour on a Wednesday morning, they were both a little rumpled and worse for wear. Myka had since realised just how much she enjoyed their little patch of South Dakota – even when there was absolutely nothing to do. She waited while Pete struggled with the lock on the door. It eventually opened to reveal a dilapidated courtyard beyond. At once stage it appeared as though someone had tried to make it into their little piece of paradise, now it was an overgrown tangled of bricks and weeds. A second door led them up a steep, cloyingly narrow staircase into the building itself. Myka had to duck on several occasions lest she be smothered by the cobwebs hanging down from the ceiling. When Pete reached out for the door handle at the top of the stairs, they were both startled when it suddenly swung inwards. Jonathan Cain stood with a pistol levelled towards them.

He lowered it as soon as he saw who it was, grinning at their startled expressions. "You're late, Agents Lattimer and Bering."

"Rush-hour on the tube," Pete replied as Cain ushered them both inside into the tiny kitchen beyond. "Who decided that we should meet at 9.30am?"

"I have tea and biscuits!" was all Cain said by way of placation – obviously it had been his idea.

Myka was grateful to find that the inside of the small flat was not as dreadful as its exterior. While somewhat dated, the surfaces and the furniture were all clean. As Cain had promised, there was hot tea and a large box of biscuits. Myka accepted a mug and helped herself to a small stack of chocolate coated biscuits. Cain led them through a pokey hallway into the living room. Myka caught sight of another narrow staircase leading upwards – probably to the bedroom. It was only when she was slumped into a soft armchair with her mouth full that she realised the object of her embarrassment was not present.

"Where's Helena?" Myka asked, her jaws still working.

"Ah! We thought it would be best if we staggered our arrivals. You know, undercover and all that guff," Cain replied. He took a look at his watch. "She shouldn't be far away."

By the time there was a knock at the door Myka had eaten her way through five biscuits accompanied by two mugs of tea. She quickly brushed the liberal covering of crumbs from her lap as Cain went to the door. She overheard brief snatches of a greeting, as well as Helena turning down the offer of tea and opted for water. Her heart thudded in time with the subsequent footsteps in the hall. No one could say that Helena Wells did not know how to make an entrance. As soon as she stepped into the room, the drab little living room suddenly became alive and Myka almost lost a mouthful of tea. Helena had obviously taken the notion of being undercover very seriously. She was dressed in as though she had come straight from a photo shoot for a sports magazine. Her lithe legs were clad in a pair of black three-quarter length tights, but it was the sports bra she wore which held Myka captivated. Although she wore a light jacket, it was unzipped, allowing a perfect view of the bra and Helena's pale stomach.

"Hello everyone, Pete…Myka," she announced, her voice light and airy.

_Holy smokes, is it hot in here all of a sudden?_ Myka gulped down her tea.

Helena practically bounced across the room in her trainers and took a seat on the sofa next to Pete. It also happened that her position brought her knees in close proximity to Myka's. It was all she could do to not notice the gleeful expression on Pete's face.

"Have a nice run?" Pete asked.

Helena frowned for a brief moment before realisation dawned. "Oh, you think…because of the outfit?" She shook her head, ponytail swinging over her shoulders. "No, I took a taxi."

"So, shall we get started?" Cain announced as he took a seat in another armchair. He had followed Helena in, but no one had been looking in his direction.

He was unaware of the tension that had suddenly manifested in the room – or perhaps that was because Myka was the only person to feel it. Beside her, Helena was taking a long sip of water, her delicate throat tipped back. When she saw Cain staring at her expectantly, she realised that he was waiting for her. With warm cheeks, she fumbled in the satchel she had carried and withdrew several folders.

_Right, time for professional-Myka_. "Thanks to the names that you both provided following the cocktail party, Claudia has helped us pull together dossiers on each of the key players." Myka passed out the folders. The other three took one and began flipping through the layers of paper within. "They all have significant public profiles, so you'll find them quite substantive regarding basic information, corporate histories and the such. What was not easily evidenced was their involvement with illegal artefact collecting." Myka was pleased to find that she was still able to sound reasonably competent. Instinctively, she rubbed her finger over the ring she still wore, suspecting that the small artefact had something to do with it.

Pete had only cursorily flipped through the dossiers, he turned to Cain. "So who are our key players that we have to watch, beside our main man Wilde of course."

Cain was nibbling at a biscuit. Myka found it distinctly unnerving. _What kind of man nibbles?_

"We would be wise to regard all five of our key players as potential threats – although Gordon Kincaide and Saskia Carmody have no ties to organised crime, nor are they known to resort to violence to get what they want. Kincaide is much too gutless and Saskia has other means at her disposal. Viktor Stefanov, Allan Yao and Tony Izzo on the otherhand…well, let's just say that you wouldn't want to openly cross those gentlemen. Stefanov in particular is one nasty bloke."

"Claudia found some references to disappearances that he has been linked with," Myka added. "Mostly shady rumours, but enough to make you think that there is some grain of truth within them."

"What is the point of having those macabre artefacts of torture if you are not going to use them?" Cain replied calmly. "It is an unspoken fact that Wilde often calls on Stefanov to do his dirty work…although I should hardly say work, as Stefanov regards it as more like pleasure."

An involuntary shiver cascaded down Myka's spine. She quickly turned the page away from the photographs of the cruel, harsh looking man. There was a gentle touch on her knee, she looked up to find Helena offering a reassuring smile. Cain was still speaking, although she barely heard him at first. She felt bereft when the contact ended.

"Thanks to the superb skills my dear Miss Wells, the threat of Wilde himself has been somewhat negated. Actually, I feel almost complacent about the whole affair now," Cain admitted. A small smile flitted across his face as he stared at Helena.

At the mention of 'my dear Miss Wells,' Myka's gaze had passed from Cain to Helena. She found his tone slightly odd, but clearly Helena had been unperturbed by it. A seemingly knowing smile was on her lips.

Of course, all Myka could interpret were Helena's reactions on the outside. She had absolutely no knowledge that the Englishwoman was struggling to maintain a veneer of good humour over the turmoil within.

"How so?" Pete asked with a frown.

"It appears that Mr Wilde has taken a considerable shine to our Helena. They spent some time alone together-"

"Several minutes, no more." Helena tried to laugh it off but her discomfort remained. Cain had deliberately omitted the part where she had stormed away from Cain and vowed to kick him in the balls rather than let him have what he wanted. "Although if it helps the mission, then I am only too happy to play my part." It was a mantra she had been repeating over the past few days. She found no more comfort in it than she did when she first started saying it to herself. She continued, "Thankfully Wilde has extremely bad taste and seems to find me attractive.

Pete raised his eyebrows. "Just how far are you going to take this charade, Helena?"

Helena lowered her head awkwardly in response, she could not bring herself to look at Myka. Unbidden, the memory hasty release in the shower several days earlier floated into her head. She wondered if a part of her ought to be grateful for Wilde's attentions. He was an extremely handsome man, and the more he became infatuated with her, the more it would help their cause. She took another sip of water as a foul taste rose in her mouth.

Cain answered in her silence. "As Helena said, she is prepared to play her part."

Myka had remained silent throughout the interchange between the other three Agents. However as soon as the insinuations behind the conversation became clear, Cain's words in particular, she felt slightly sick to her stomach. The fact that Helena had not tried to refute him, made it even worse. She stole another glance out of the corner of her eye. As Helena lowered her glass of water, another smile played on her lips.

_She's actually pleased about it!_ The sudden thought crossed Myka's mind. She did not need to turn to the photo of Wilde to be reminded just how handsome he was. She had always known that Helena was the sort of person who utilised her feminine charms to get what she wanted, but she had not realised just how far she would go. The room started to spin. Moments later, her stomach heaved unexpectedly, threatening to expel the contents of her stomach in spectacular fashion. Somehow she found her way to her feet.

"Mykes?" Pete asked.

"Um…some air," Myka managed to say. "I need some air."

With the hasty excuse, Myka fled from the room and the flat altogether. She made her way down the narrow staircase, clutching at the rail, until she emerged in the overgrown courtyard. Several great gulps of air cleared her head, but nothing could take away the awful realisation of what Helena was actually doing on this mission and just how little she seemed to care about it.

"London often has that effect on people," Cain commented. He was quite unconcerned, even as they all heard the door down below slam shut behind Myka. "Anyone for another cup of tea?"

"Sure, why the hell not," Pete nodded. As Cain left the room, Pete turned his attention to Helena. If it were even possible, the pale Englishwoman had turned an even whiter shade of white. "Do you think one of us should check on Myka?" he asked nonchalantly.

Helena was sure she was sweating uncontrollably. "It might be a good idea, you're her best friend after all."

"I'm having another cup of tea," Pete replied.

Helena frowned. Surely she had misunderstood. Pete was putting a cup of tea ahead of checking on Myka? "I'm sure Jonathan will make you another."

"I really need a cup of tea right now," Pete insisted. "Why don't you talk to Myka?"

"Me?" Helena spluttered. "Surely, Pete-"

Pete sighed as he wondered why she was being so damn difficult. "I'm sure Mykes would be just as happy to see you. Besides, you're a woman, she's a woman - it might be…a woman thing!"

"Pete-"

"Helena G. Wells, get your butt down into that courtyard and see if Myka is okay!" Pete finally snapped.

With raised eyebrows as though she thought Pete had suddenly lost it altogether, Helena rose from the sofa. The last thing she wanted to do at that point in time was be in a position where she was alone with Myka. She did not trust herself in such a situation. As she left the flat, she squared her shoulders. It would be easy enough if she kept her distance. A couple of words would be all that was needed. No doubt Myka was feeling the strain of their mission. It was undeniably important, and not to mention dangerous. Helena knew she would be able to offer a few words of comfort, then they could both go back inside and have a nice cup of tea. Helena definitely needed cup of tea.

Thankfully Myka had only retreated as far as the courtyard. Helena found her sitting in one of the garden chairs that looked as though they had been outside since before she went into the Bronzer. Her back was to the door and her head was lowered. For some reason, Helena found it difficult to say anything. _A few words, that's all. _However it was easier to think about saying them than to actually force them out. At first she remained on the far side of the courtyard, however when Myka did not make any effort to turn around, she approached cautiously.

She surprised herself by walking across the entire courtyard. Before she could stop herself, she had reached out and laid a gentle hand on Myka's shoulder.

"For the love of god, Pete!" Myka suddenly snapped without looking up. "I told you I was getting some air!" She stood abruptly, wrenching her shoulder away as she moved. When she turned around, her entire face fell. "You're not Pete," she whispered.

The tell-tale remnants of tears were all too evident on Myka's face. In fact, several were still making their way down her cheeks. Helena had to suppress the overwhelming urge to reach out and brush them off with the tips of her fingers.

"No, I'm not Pete," Helena replied softly.

_You're not Pete._ Myka's first reaction was to wish that she had an artefact in her possession that would allow her to disappear in an instant. Instead, she just stood staring at the woman standing opposite her. It was all she could do to keep her eyes fixed on Helena's face, instead of letting them wander down to the expanse of skin that was revealed beneath her jacket. She clenched her fingers into fists when she realised that she was imagining touching that skin. _Oh holy shit balls, I'm crying,_ she realised with abject horror. The only thing she could do was turn her back on Helena again as she scrubbed at her face. Her mind worked overtime to come up with some excuse as to why she would be sitting in the courtyard crying. She now wished that it were Pete standing behind her. He already knew the truth. She could effortlessly throw her arms around his neck and cry on his shoulder. Instead it was Helena – the very source of her misery.

"Are you alright, Myka?" Helena asked.

_No I'm not alright thank you very much, Miss Wells,_ Myka thought. Completely unbidden, Pete's sage advice floated into her head. _Maybe I should just kiss her?_ One way or another, it would definitely put her out of her misery. _She doesn't want me, she wants Wilde…or maybe even that smarmy bastard Cain. _

"Yeah, I'm fine. It's just….allergies," Myka replied, unable to turn around.

"Allergies?" Helena repeated dubiously. Several seconds of silence passed before she continued. "It really was lovely to speak to you the other night. After the cocktail party…after Wilde. It was just…nice."

"I would have thought that Mr Wilde was more than enough fun for you for one night," Myka snapped. She bit her lip, feeling guilty for the sudden vehemence in her voice.

"Myka?" Helena was surprised. "What do you mean by that? It hardly fits my definition of fun. It was work, pure and simple."

"Yes, the kind of work where you get to bat your eyelashes at an incredibly good-looking man," Myka sneered. Her tone was so uncharacteristically cruel, but she was letting her anger and frustration get the better of her.

"What is it to you?" Helena snapped back, irritation creeping into her own tone. "If it helps us get the cache then it's all worth it, and no harm is done. Besides, why do you even care what I do with Wilde? If I have to-"

Helena's sentence was cut short when Myka suddenly spun around. Before she could even utter a slight exclamation of surprise, Myka threw herself forward and cupped Helena's cheeks in two trembling hands. Without any idea of what she was actually doing, she kissed her. With one party throwing themselves into it, and the other caught unawares, the kiss was decidedly harsh and completely lacking in any sort of finesse. Nevertheless, as Myka crushed their lips together, for a few delicious seconds she had the taste of Helena Wells on her lips. She could feel the warmth of her breath…and then the stiffening of her body as she reacted with obvious shock. Myka pulled away from the kiss as suddenly as she had launched into it. Her cheeks felt as though they were on fire as she saw what she thought was a look of complete horror on Helena's face.

"I am so sorry," Myka whispered.

Vowing to murder Pete in his bed for his stupid suggestion, Myka turned and fled the scene altogether. She forced her way out through the heavy black door without looking back. Once out of the courtyard, she kept running as fast as her legs would carry her.


	8. The Wrong Kind of Proposition

**Chapter Eight**  
**The Wrong Kind of Proposition**

With the lingering taste of Myka's lips on her own, Helena felt her legs start to wobble beneath her. The chair Myka had been sitting in was just within reach. She leaned against it for a few moments, before slowly sitting. There were dozens of thoughts fighting for prominence in her mind, but foremost amongst them was the giddy memory of Myka actually having kissed her and what this entailed. Being a woman of above average intelligence, Helena deduced that this meant that Myka had feelings for her – romantic ones. _Bloody hell, an idiot with half a brain could come to that conclusion_, she thought as she absently kicked at a discarded terracotta pot that was lying within reach of her sneaker. She gave it an angry stab and sent it rattling across the cobbles. It eventually hit a wall and broke in two with an audible crack. The abrupt sound finally reactivated her rational mind.

Myka had romantic feelings for her. She most definitely had romantic feelings for Myka – even before she'd given into her desires the previous evening. Apparently they were both exceptionally crap at picking up on these feelings – at least until the kiss laid everything out in stark, glorious reality. Helena finally wondered why the hell she was sitting down kicking terracotta pots instead of chasing after Myka. Almost knocking the chair over in her haste to stand up, Helena stumbled to her feet. At that moment she heard voices, followed by the door in front of her opening to reveal Pete and Jonathan. She almost scowled at their impeccably poor timing.

"Hey, where's Mykes?" Pete asked in an annoyingly upbeat tone.

"She popped out for a…walk." Helena paused, she had been about to say 'cigarette' even though she knew full well that Myka did not smoke. She quickly realised that it was her own subconscious cravings – well over a century after she had given up. "I was actually just on my way to-"

"You, my dear, are on your way back to our hotel," Cain interrupted. He practically swooped on her and placed a hand on the small of her back. "I've just received a call from our mutual friend inviting us up to his house in Oxfordshire for the day."

"I just need a few minutes," Helena tried to sidestep his touch, which was sending odd shivers up her spine. "I'll meet you there."

"Wilde is sending a car to the hotel." Cain was most insistent. "Pete will pass our departure onto Miss Bering, won't you, old chap?"

It was all Helena could do to look back over her shoulder at Pete as Cain prodded her out of the courtyard. The American was staring at her with a puzzled expression on his face, no doubt curious about her reluctance to leave.

"Sure thing," Pete replied. He sounded suspicious. "Is Myka alright?"

_No_, Helena thought desperately. _Myka, you dear, brave girl – if only I had not been such a wool-headed ninny! _"Pete, please tell her…" Cain was prodding her in the back and all she wanted to do was turn around and plant her fist on his jaw. "Tell her…we'll talk soon."

Leaving Pete to look for Myka, Cain led the way back out to the street. As he signalled a passing taxi, Helena scanned their surroundings in the hope that she could catch a glimpse of Myka before she had to leave. She did not know what good a tortured glance could possibly do for either of them, but nor could she help herself. Predictably, the beautiful brunette was nowhere in sight.

When Cain tried to help her into the taxi, she swatted his hand away irritably. "I am quite capable of climbing into a vehicle!" she snapped. He actually had the good grace to appear somewhat chastened after her outburst. Helena bit her lip. "My apologies, Mr Cain, I am slightly…" She was reluctant to say nervous or anxious or any other description that might imply she was not up to the task at hand. "On edge," she finished.

It was true enough. Not only did Helena doubt her ability to carry out the subterfuge she had been tasked with, she desperately wanted time to sort out the whole mess with Myka. At stake on one hand was an incredibly significant cache of artefacts, on the other was a potential chance for her to find happiness in the twenty-first century.

As the taxi pulled away from the curb, Cain offered some pithy words of encouragement. Helena was already ignoring him as she gazed out of the window. Since Christina's tragic death, Helena had found it impossible to imagine ever loving someone again – especially when she gave herself over to her hate. Gradually Myka Bering had eroded the layers she had built around herself until the point where her usually guarded emotions were at the mercy of the goofy, brilliant Agent. Helena had already messed up so many aspects of her inordinately long life she was determined not to ruin the chance she had with Myka.

_Be patient for one more day_,_ Myka._ Helena silently willed her words to somehow travel to Myka's subconscious. _For both our sakes. _

* * *

Having called Myka on his Farnsworth in an effort to track her down, Pete already knew that his partner wasn't in the best of moods. He found her sitting on a bench in a small, neighbourhood park. Outwardly she looked to be perfectly composed, but he recognised the slight narrowing of her eyes for what it really was – she was pissed off. Specifically, she was pissed off at him. Feigning an innocent nonchalance, Pete sauntered over to the bench and perched on the opposite end – hopefully out of reach of Myka's fists. They sat in silence for several minutes. Pete pretended to be engrossed in watching a nearby dog – a fat little pug trying to mark as many trees as he possibly could. While its ritualistic habits were fascinating, Pete was actually watching Myka intently out of the corner of his eye.

Eventually he started to grow impatient. He gave a discreet little cough. When that failed to draw the necessary response, he took to drumming his fingers on the bench. "So…" he began. "Lovely morning-"

"Remind me never to act on your advice," Myka interrupted in a bitter tone.

"What advice was that?" Pete asked cautiously. He had given Myka a great deal of advice throughout their time together, not all of it was based on sound reasoning.

Myka finally turned to look at him. Her expression was one of clear frustration and there were unshed tears in her eyes. Pete couldn't see any trace of the anger that he had been nervous about earlier so he shuffled a little closer.

"I kissed her, Pete," she whispered. "I. Kissed. H.G Wells."

Pete's first subconscious thought was to be disappointed that he had not been present, but he quickly suppressed that before he could give voice to it. He quickly deduced from Myka's current state that the kiss had not produced the intended result.

"What happened?" he asked quietly._ I bet it was hot. No! Bad, bad thoughts…can't you see Mykes is upset? _"Unless you don't want to talk about it?" _Still would've been hot though_.

"No I don't want to talk about how I made a fool of myself," Myka replied. "How I threw myself at her and she did…nothing other than recoil in horror."

"She recoiled in horror?" Pete tried to clarify. "Exactly what does recoiling in horror look like?"

Myka pretended to go incredibly stiff with her fingers frozen in front of her like little claws. To add to the effect she twisted her face to look as though she had just taken a bite out of a lemon. She held the comical pose for a few second before her shoulders sagged and she shook her head. "It was nothing like that…I just felt that she was shocked. When she didn't respond, I panicked and ran."

"So it wasn't hot then?" _Pete!_ He thumped himself on the forehead.

When he turned to look at Myka, there was a wistful smile on her otherwise despondent face. "It was a little bit hot."

"A little bit?" Pete held up his thumb and forefinger spread a few inches apart.

Myka repeated the gesture, although her thumb and forefinger were spread slightly wider apart. "H.G smells really…really nice."

Pete stood. He was pleased that Myka was coping so well. Normally he would have taken the credit for her rebound, but he'd done very little. When he held out his hand to help her up, she accepted it with a small smile.

"Come on, let's see if we can find our way back to this damned tube station," he said.

"I can't believe I did that," Myka murmured as they began walking.

"I can't believe you did it either. Not all of my advice is to be taken so literally," Pete said. "What are you going to do now?"

"What any rational, self-respecting adult would do," Myka replied quickly. "Pretend as though nothing ever happened."

* * *

Helena had been quite unsuccessful in banishing thoughts of Myka Bering from her mind through the ninety-minute drive to Wilde's Oxfordshire. While Jonathan Cain had initially attempted to engage her in conversation, he finally lost interest shortly after their car turned onto the M25. Left to wallow in her own thoughts, Helena soon closed her eyes and drifted off into a dream world that was far more pleasant than her current existence. In her waking dream she eagerly responded to Myka's attempt to kiss her. What began as something awkward and more than a little sloppy, soon developed into a passionate embrace. With Myka's eager and willing body pressed up against her, waiting for her to take the lead, Helena pressed her back against one of the courtyard's walls. As the palm of her hand scraped against the rough bricks, Helena nudged a thigh in between Myka's and ground forward. This elicited a delightful groan from the back of Myka's throat. Simply for the fact that it was a dream, Helena's wandering hands had free rein to explore as she wanted – without fear of being disturbed by Pete or Cain, or of Myka protesting that things were moving too fast.

Such was the heady stuff of dreams that Helena dragged her eyes open reluctantly when she heard Cain announce that they had arrived. She had suspected as much when she heard the slow crunch of gravel beneath the car tyres. With her neck slightly stiff and a now familiar unquenched desire raging in the pit of her stomach, Helena looked up for her first glimpse of Wilde's country house. While she had not given it much thought, she had imagined that the house would be some sort of Gothic Revival monstrosity. Instead what she found was a modestly proportioned Palladian villa – both symmetrical and clean in its proportions. A sweeping horseshoe staircase coiled up towards the main entrance. Helena hated it – she would have much preferred the Gothic monstrosity.

A weak sun was shining as the driver opened the door for her. Helena retrieved her own day bag before Cain had a chance to play the gentleman. As she stepped out, she could already see a beaming Herodotus Wilde making his way down the steps to greet them. For all her distaste for the role she was playing, Helena had dressed her part. She had chosen to wear a chic royal blue dress that hugged her body in all the right places. The incredibly short length and matching pumps gave her a lithe leg that Wilde could not fail to notice as she stood. Helena had to resist the urge to tug at it and make sure it was covering her arse. She was used to the days when dresses did not even reveal ones ankles.

"Miss Wells!" Wilde greeted her more than a little enthusiastically. Instead of merely accepting the hand she extended towards him, he took it and used the leverage to draw her forward against his body. "It is so very good of you to come," he murmured as his lips pressed much too close to her ear for comfort.

Helena extricated herself gracefully. "It was kind of you to invite us."

She pointedly cast a glance over her shoulder at Jonathan Cain. Her fellow Agent smoothly moved to her side and captured Wilde's attention by offering his hand. The two men shook hands. In doing so Wilde allowed Helena to escape from his embrace, which she did as quickly as possible.

_This is going to be a very long day_, Helena thought as Wilde ushered them toward the entrance.

"I do hope you have both brought a change of clothes," Wilde announced as he led them inside the handsomely furnished interior. "I must insist that you both spend the night and enjoy the full extent of my hospitality."

Helena had to suppress a groan. At that moment in time, Myka seemed very far away indeed.

Cain's plan to make the most of their time with Wilde was remarkably simple in its execution. It consisted of consuming liberal amounts of alcohol and flattering the man far beyond what he deserved. Playing the part of the smiling, gracious guest, Helena wondered whether Cain ought to have been tasked with seducing Wilde instead.

"You have been very sombre this evening, Miss Wells," Wilde commented quietly.

The three of them had enjoyed a dinner worthy of a Michelin star restaurant. Cain had just excused himself to use the bathroom and Helena was feigning a great deal of interest in the remains of her lemon posset. In truth, the sweetened cream dessert felt as though it was curdling in her stomach.

"I had hoped to be more agreeable company," Helena replied, silently willing Wilde to remain at the opposite end of the table.

"Perhaps another glass of wine?" Wilde suggested. Much to Helena's chagrin, he rose from his seat and claimed an unopened bottle of red from the side table. "The garden is quite lovely in the evening, why don't we take a brief stroll?"

"Jonathan-" Helena began to protest.

"Is a big boy, I'm sure he can entertain himself. Besides, I have a proposition for you, Miss Wells, and as a broker of certain collectables, I think it will interest you a great deal."

With a smile fixed on her face, Helena allowed Wilde to refill her glass. Unlike the two men, she had taken very little alcohol throughout the day, preferring to keep to mineral water. As Wilde led her to a large pair of French doors, she fortified herself with a quick swill.

Wilde had not been exaggerating when he said that his garden was 'quite lovely.' In all truth, she found that it was gorgeous in the early summer air. The air was thick with a myriad of different scents – cut grass and the fragrant notes of a nearby wisteria vine. Gnarled and twisted, the vine and its purple flowers seemed to dance across the thick marble balustrade that separated house and garden. Artfully placed lights brought the garden alive as it stretched away from the house. The trees, shrubs and flowerbeds were carefully designed to create the illusion of randomness, and yet nature itself was never so perfect. For several blissful moments, Helena was able to forget the man she was standing next to and enjoy the scene for its lush beauty. However Wilde's fingers caressing her wrist snapped her very quickly out of her reverie. Helena took another sip of her wine – it was rich and fruity and very easy to drink.

"If I were you, I would spend all of my time here as opposed to London," she said brightly. "Here one can actually breathe."

"I would if I had the company to keep it interesting," Wilde replied, taking a sip of his own drink. "Unfortunately the country can be so dreadfully boring without decent company. For all the noisome stench of the city, I need the bright lights and distractions of London to help me to feel truly alive. I usually only come here to remind myself that I own a country estate."

"I love solitude." Upon her next gulp, Helena realised that she had already drained her glass. Wilde was on hand to pour another generous measure, but she had not intended to drink so much in his presence. Already she could feel herself becoming slightly giddy. "It gives me the freedom to think and compose my thoughts. Writing in a cramped house in London is often next to impossible."

"So you write, Miss Wells?" Wilde enquired. "Are you as clever as your famous namesake?"

_Oh dear_. Helena took another gulp of wine. Her tongue had run away with her. "Not in the slightest. Just bits and pieces really, rubbish that isn't fit for publication. So, you mentioned a proposition?"

Wilde suddenly grinned like a cat present with an entire bowl of cream. When he set his wine glass down on the balustrade, it sent all sorts of warning signals pinging through Helena's mind. She felt as though she should make a swift escape before matters went beyond her control. This was made all the more difficult when Wilde closed off her escape route back to the house with a few discreet steps. He positioned himself just in front of her, only a step away from standing on her toes. Helena did not normally feel short, but with Wilde standing so near she felt positively tiny. He shifted again and she caught a whiff of masculine scent. It was fresh and pleasant enough, but it made her skin crawl.

"That word does sound incredibly delightful coming from your lips," Wilde said smoothly.

"Which one, publication?" Helena asked, fully aware that Wilde was talking about the other 'p' word – proposition. She started to take a step backwards, but quickly realised that the backs of her thighs were already pressed up against the balustrade. _Checkmate,_ she thought. _How are you going to get out of this one, old girl?_ A swift knee to the groin was her first thought. While the thought of Wilde writhing in pain was satisfying enough, it didn't outweigh the importance of their mission.

"I must confess I have quite forgotten what it was that I was about to say to you," Wilde murmured. In one swift movement he closed the barely respectable gap between them and brought his hand up to cup her cheek. Helena let out a slight gasp of surprise. "I think I should set aside one proposition in favour of another – one where I get to appreciate just how beautiful you truly are."

In one moment the words left Wilde's lips, in the next he was kissing her. It was all Helena could do to force herself to respond with some measure of enthusiasm. His touch was anything but rough – instead his lips were gentle and persistent. The hand that held her waist exerted only a light pressure as it roamed possessively over the small of her back and down to the curve of her arse. Even with her eyes closed, Helena could not pretend that she was kissing anyone other than Herodotus Wilde. She would have traded a thousand such kisses for the simple, awkward moment that she had shared with Myka that morning.

* * *

"Something just crawled up my arm!"

Myka rolled her eyes as Pete began to frantically move about – she heard dry twigs break beneath his weight and the thick foliage above their heads rustled slightly. It was highly likely that something small and bug-like had burrowed into Pete's clothing. The pair of Agents lay in matching prone positions in the dirt beneath a thick hedgerow. Up until he'd started panicking about bugs, Pete had been observing Wilde's mansion through a pair of binoculars. In truth, Myka was just as uncomfortable, but obviously her tolerance for bugs was higher than Pete's – or perhaps she was just more of a grown-up. They had already been lying in the dirt for a few hours – since darkness fell. If boredom and inactivity wasn't enough to make her irritable, Myka had ripped her pants whilst climbing over a wall into Wilde's garden. So far they had not caught so much as a glimpse of Helena or Jonathan Cain.

"Are you purposefully trying to let Wilde know we're hanging out in his garden?" Myka demanded.

She couldn't see Pete's expression in the dark, but she heard his mumbled apology and the movement suddenly stopped.

"Got anything to eat?" he asked a minute or so later.

"Not since the last time you asked," Myka replied. "Can I have a turn with the binoculars?"

"There's nothing to see," Pete replied. A few more moments passed. "What about anything to drink?"

Myka fumbled in the dark for the bottled water she'd thought to bring. She tapped it lightly against Pete's fingers. However when she felt him take hold of it, she snatched the binoculars from his grasp. Any potential protest was forgotten as Pete started chugging down gulps of water. Myka tried to ignore the rather unnerving sound in the darkness and concentrated instead on what little she could see of Wilde's house. Given that the binoculars were not infra-red, this was limited to the pools of light shining from the windows and out into the garden. As Pete had already explained, there was very little to see. Occasionally she would catch a glimpse of movement beyond the windows and wonder whether the dark shape was Helena.

"I need to pee," Pete predictably announced less than five minutes later.

As her partner shuffled backwards out of the hedgerow, Myka shifted to avoid a rock that had been digging into her hip for the better part of half an hour. Now that Pete had announced the news about his bladder, Myka suddenly realised that she too needed to relieve herself. _Thanks, Pete_, she thought as she did another sweep over the windows of Wilde's house. Just as she was inwardly bemoaning having to pee in the great outdoors without any toilet paper, Myka caught movement. She trained the binoculars on the source. One of the large French doors swung open. When Helena and Wilde emerged, Myka let out a sigh of relief to see that the English woman appeared unharmed. In fact, with the gentle smile flitting across her face, Helena appeared almost relaxed. Lip-reading became impossible when all she could see was Helena's back and the top of Wilde's head.

She did not look away when Pete returned. "Did I miss anything?"

"Helena and Wilde are outside," Myka whispered.

"Hand 'em over," Pete demanded, he reached over and tapped her on what he thought was her shoulder. It was actually her head.

"Hell no," was Myka's rapid reply. "And quit hitting me in the head."

"Well, what's H.G wearing?" Pete asked, his own eyes straining to see in the distance. Without binoculars however, he could only just make out the two people in the distance.

"A blue dress," Myka replied, not stopping to wonder why the hell Pete would care about Helena's outfit. "A very short blue dress that looks-" _Stunning. And her arse...sweet heavens what I wouldn't give to wrap my hands around that taut expanse of flesh_ "-very nice," Myka eventually finished. She could feel her cheeks burning in the darkness. _Damn all thoughts of H.G. and her bloody arse._

She was still watching intently at the moment that Herodotus Wilde moved forward into Helena's personal space. Her jaw was dropping steadily until he made the final move. At the point at which he leaned in and kissed Helena, Myka felt as though someone had reached inside her body and deliberately twisted her stomach into a cruel, painful knot.

"They look like they're kissing!" Pete exclaimed a few seconds later.

"That's because they are kissing," Myka replied sullenly.

His fascinated tone died abruptly. "I'm sorry, Mykes," he said softly.

Myka sighed before realising that she had no right to any sympathy. "Why should I care? It's not like she'd rather be kissing me."

She felt completely miserable, but she was also unable to tear her gaze away from the scene unfolding in front of her. It was as though someone had tapped into her fantasies and maliciously twisted them. She was watching her own dream unfold in front of her eyes, except that someone had usurped her place in Helena's arms.

"Here, take them." Myka thrust the binoculars in Pete's general direction

Myka was slightly unnerved by the speed with which Pete snatched them from her grasp – or at least tried to. In his haste he ended up poking her in the eye before his fingers wrapped around the actual object. Her growl of protest was slightly muted as she had simply given up caring at that moment in time. She was cold, her stomach was growling and she badly needed a shower. The last thing she wanted to be doing was lying in the dirt watching the woman she was attracted to make out with someone else.

"Woah," Pete whispered.

"Spare me the details, Pete," Myka growled. She definitely did not want a blow by blow description.

"We gotta do something before this gets out of hand," Pete continued.

Myka turned her attention back to her partner. There was something in the tone of his voice that worried her. "What do you mean?"

"You may not think it to look at me, because I am one studly stud, but I know when a woman isn't that into me. And H.G, she's not that into our dude Wilde. She reminds me of one of my high school girlfriends...well, not so much a girlfriend-"

Myka tried to rise into a crouch but she had forgotten about the hedgerow above her head. "Pete! Focus – what the hell are we supposed to do?"

'I don't know, it's H.G. Wells! Surely she'll come up with a plan to brush Wilde off without pissing him off...won't she?" Pete's tone indicated that he wasn't convinced.

Myka wasn't going to leave anything to chance. She slithered forward a few feet, until she was out from beneath the hedge. She popped up into a crouch and scanned the garden down below. Pete was hissing something at her in an urgent whisper, but she wasn't paying any attention. Summoning her hidden ninja skills, Myka scurried forward in the shadows. As she moved, her eyes darted left and right, searching for something. Finally she caught a glimpse of a shiny plastic sensor. It was well hidden, but Myka recognised it as a top of the line private security sensor – most probably triggered to a silent alarm monitored by Wilde's goons. Either that or there were hidden cameras somewhere and her face was already being marked – Myka didn't want to dwell on that little thought. Knowing that Pete was probably watching her with a horrified expression, she deliberately darted in front of it and did a little jig just to be sure. What followed was a slightly panicked run back towards the hedgerow. However in the darkness she had lost Pete's position. It was only when he started calling out that she knew where to find him. She slammed back down into the dirt, feeling slightly giddy.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Pete demanded.

Myka made out Pete's outline in the darkness. She could just see that he had the binoculars up to his eyes. "Well?"

"You've got someone's attention. I make two of them coming in this direction-"

"I don't give a rat's arse about Wilde's goons!" Myka hissed. "Has he stopped kissing Helena?"

"Yes, he's disappeared inside. She's...just standing there."

Even as she felt Pete start to inch backwards, Myka snatched the binoculars from him. She brought them up and searched out Helena. For some reason the Englishwoman was staring out into the garden. For just the briefest moment, she seemed to gaze in Myka's direction, almost as though she was looking right at her. Myka's mouth creased into a small, satisfied smile when she thought she recognised Helena's lips open in a sigh of relief.

"Myka! Goons! Coming. Now!" Pete hissed.

It was only when Pete started dragging her by the legs that Myka finally realised she had to move. Pete yanked her onto her feet and together the pair of them began running in the direction of the wall they had climbed over a few hours earlier.

"Just playing Devil's Advocate...what if we can't get back over that wall?" Pete asked as they ran.

"Shut up and run, Pete," was Myka's abrupt reply.


	9. The Delicate Scent of HG Wells

**Chapter Nine**  
**The Delicate Scent of H.G. Wells**

Despite a slight crick in her neck, Myka awoke to the pleasant sensation of feeling safe and warm. For the first time in several weeks, she'd experienced a blissfully dreamless sleep that had not involved something awful happening to Helena. However as full consciousness returned and recent memories came flooding back, Myka remembered that something awful had happened to Helena. She opened her eyes in a flash lest she be forced to dwell on the image of Helena kissing Herodotus Wilde for more than a split second. Myka found herself lying across the sofa in the dingy hotel suite she shared with Pete. The blanket from her bed covered the lower half of her body and the crick in her neck was due to the fact that she'd been using Pete's lap as a rather hard pillow. The television was on, but the sound was muted.

"Hey you," Pete announced as she rolled over to look up at him. He gently swished a clump of hair out of her eyes. "You sleep okay?"

Myka frowned and dragged herself up into a sitting position. "Not so much. Why are we on the sofa?"

Pete nodded towards the empty bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and two glasses on the table in front of them. "It might have something to do with the fact that you polished off the lion's share of that bottle there."

"I did? Shit, I don't even remember getting back to the hotel." Now that Myka's body was on something other than a horizontal plane, she was beginning to feel the effects of the wine. Her head swam uncomfortably.

"You mean after you triggered the alarm that necessitated us running for our lives?" Pete asked in a slightly grumpy tone. "How's your leg by the way?"

"My leg?" _Just how much do I actually remember?_ Myka peeled back the blanket to see an angry red scrape on the inside of her thigh. She did remember tearing her pants, but not tearing her leg open. It was also at that point that she realised her bottom half was clad only in her underwear. She turned back to Pete. "You took my pants off!"

"I most certainly did not!" he protested indignantly. "You stripped them off yourself, although right in front of me I might add. A fellow could go blind seeing a sight like that."

Myka quickly covered herself up with the blanket. "Are you implying that something is wrong with my legs?" she demanded. Her head hurt and she desperately wanted to lie down again.

"They are an exceptionally nice pair of legs, and that's the problem!" Pete replied.

"Oh," Myka responded awkwardly.

The uncomfortable moment lasted mere seconds before it was banished by Myka's need to lie down again. Without waiting for an invitation, she flopped forward against Pete's shoulder and burrowed into the crook of his arm. Feigning a sigh of exasperation, Pete lifted his arm so she could get comfortable. He placed it around her shoulders and drew her in close.

Myka's attention flitted between the grey light of dawn beyond the window, and the inane sport being played on the television. It mostly involved men running mindlessly up and down a field. Occasionally they would pass a round ball between them. The repetition of their movements soon lulled her back into a drowsy state.

"You're not going back to sleep are you?" Pete asked several minutes later.

"Trying to," Myka mumbled.

"Oh no you're not." Much to Myka's disgust, Pete extracted his body out from beneath hers and stood. "Cain called an hour ago. Say, since you seem to be so good at drinking wine, how good are you at pouring it?"

"I'm crap," Myka replied as she did her best to hold her body upright in a seated position. "Well, at least I'm sure I would be crap if I'd ever actually tried to do it for a living. Why, what did Cain have to say for himself?"

"That he's found you a job," Pete replied simply. "Now hurry up and get dressed. I'm absolutely starving."

"I have a job!" Myka called as Pete disappeared in the direction of the bathroom. As he was closing it behind him, she managed to drag herself to her feet. "Although I'm seriously considering quitting!"

* * *

Myka looked down at her outfit with an expression of abject disgust. She plucked at the fluorescent tank top that made even her insignificant breasts look as though they were straining to escape. Below it she wore a either a skirt that desperately wanted to be a belt, or a belt that wished it were a skirt. To top off the outfit, her feet were jammed into a pair of shoes that had cost less than the McDonald's meal Pete had eaten for breakfast.

"Who knew you could buy so much for so little?" Pete enthused as he rummaged through a paper bag full of clothing. It was emblazoned with 'Primark' on the side. He held up another tank top, although this time it was one covered in silver sequins. "How about this one?"

She wrinkled her nose. "Ah, Pete, don't you think I look ridiculous enough already?" She demanded. "And if you think I'm getting changed in the back of a taxi, then you've got some-"

"Hey, chill out, grumpster!" Pete held up his hands. "No changing, gotcha."

"I don't mind if you wanna change, luv," the driver spoke up. He was a stubble-faced guy who happily gave Myka a wink in his rear vision mirror.

"I'll be fine, seriously." Myka glared at Pete. "Thanks though...and thanks awfully, Pete."

He held up his hands in surrender. "Hey, don't you want to help H.G. out?"

"Of course I bloody well want to help Helena," Myka replied as she glanced nervously out of the window. "But going undercover as a waitress at a party thrown by Herodotus Cain isn't exactly what I had in mind!"

"You'll be near H.G," Pete pointed out helpfully.

"Near enough to serve canapés and champagne," Myka muttered. "Besides, how do you know Wilde doesn't have a nice picture of my little garden jaunt from one of his security cameras?"

"Cain said he's checked everything out," Pete reassured her. "There were no cameras in that part of the garden."

Myka snorted. "So Cain says-"

"We're here," the driver announced.

"Myka, you'll be fine," Pete added. "Besides, aren't you still wearing the almighty ring of awesomeness?"

Myka looked down at J.A. Larsen's ring, still snug around her finger. When she looked back up at Pete, her gaze was less than impressed. "Pete, the ring improves your talents...talents you already have. I'm about as good at being a high-class waitress as I am at playing...whatever the hell it's called. I'll see you later."

"Soccer?" Pete added helpfully.

"Football!" The taxi driver corrected him in a disgruntled voice.

Ignoring him, Pete reached out and took her by the hand for a moment. He tapped the Farnsworth in his pocket. "I won't be far away, okay?"

Myka sighed. "I sincerely doubt that whatever I wear will be voluminous enough to conceal a Farnsworth."

As the taxi drove off down the street, Myka glanced up at the facade of the catering company. She muttered under her breath and tried to tug the skirt-belt down over her arse. Although she secretly hoped that the Manager would find her latest potential employee subpar, Myka was given an approving nod and hired on the spot. She suspected that someone had greased a few wheels somewhere up the chain as she felt decidedly out of place amidst the company of half a dozen women who were all at least five years younger than her, and possibly as much as a decade. Still, she found that she could play the part of the mysterious older American surprisingly well.

_This has got to be the most degrading thing I have ever done_, Myka thought to herself as the mini-van drew up outside Wilde's Oxfordshire mansion several hours later. It was the second time in as many nights that she had had been to the house. Although of course it was the first time she was legitimately allowed on the property. Thankfully the company uniform covered slightly more than her 'audition' outfit that Pete had chosen at Primark. The black and white number was traditional and almost prim. _I guess Wilde prefers the old adage 'less is more,'_ Myka thought as she filed into the house with her fellow waitresses.

* * *

Still more than a little annoyed that they were still in Oxfordshire, Helena had to summon up previously unknown acting skills to appear the slightest bit interested in the party Wilde was throwing. Given that she had not even expected to stay one night, she had only the blue dress she brought with her to wear. Wilde had thoroughly unnerved her by revealing a small wardrobe full of dresses in her size. Although he claimed that they had belonged to the previous Mrs Wilde, she could not bring herself to believe him.

Nevertheless, a few hours later Helena found herself surrounded by a similar crowd to the one she had experienced at Wilde's townhouse. That particular occasion felt like months ago, instead of a mere week. She had chosen the most demure of the dresses on offer – a relatively plain black number with a thick belt around the middle. It both completely covered her bosom and a respectable amount of thigh without appearing frumpy.

Helena immediately recognised some of the usual suspects amongst the guests. The stunning redhead, Saskia Carmody, arrived with a statuesque, ebony skinned young woman on her arm. Saskia's date was a good foot taller and at least a decade younger. The Kincaides were present with Kathy Kincaide on fine form. She expertly wrestled Wilde away from Helena in what she obviously thought was a brilliant use of feminine guile. At no point she realise just how grateful the other woman was for the service. Relieved of having to spend the better part of the evening with Wilde's hand possessively placed on her arse, Helena was free to roam the room. With a mostly untouched glass of champagne in her hand she slinked along the sides of the cavernous ballroom and listened in on what conversations she could. It soon became obvious that, despite the presence of a few of Wilde's potential buyers, most of the crowd gathered in the room were merely established elite, with a few desperate social climbers scattered amongst them for good measure. There were few who knew Wilde well, most seemed to be present for the free champagne and the opportunity to 'be seen.'

In an effort to continue avoiding her host, she cast a discreet glance across the room to ascertain his whereabouts. She was relieved to find him in the middle of a group of four women – clearly Kathy Kincaide now had serious competition. Allowing herself a small smirk and a delicate sip of her champagne, Helena also clearly made out Wilde's bodyguard. Given that they were within the safety of Wilde's own home, he did not carry the case she had seen him with on several occasions. No doubt it was secured within a safe or vault somewhere in the house. Helena's smirk shifted to a thoughtful frown. Wilde had been on the verge of telling her something the previous evening…before he had distracted himself with thoughts of shoving his tongue down her throat. That memory necessitated a generous gulp of champagne. She practically drained her glass and helped herself to two canapés from a passing waitress. Without caring for delicate manners, Helena shoved both into her mouth at once and swilled back the last of the champagne. She had already forced herself to acknowledge the unfortunate truth in the whole unpleasant situation. In order to further ingratiate herself into Wilde's confidence, she would have to continue playing his game. _Perhaps I ought to recruit Kathy Kincaide to our cause? _Helena thought as she dragged her tongue around her mouth in an effort to clear the congealed canapés. However, although she knew the woman would be all too happy to do anything to please Wilde, she would more than likely also be happy to spill everything.

"More champagne?" a sugary voice asked expectantly.

Helena focused her attention away from Wilde, onto the young woman who was offering to fill her glass. She was one of at least half a dozen little tarts Wilde had brought over from London for the evening. Pretty, lithe-legged and probably exceedingly vapid to boot. With a wince, Helena chided herself inwardly for her petty assumptions. It was far more likely the young woman was a student trying to support herself through school.

Before Helena's silence hinted that she was either already drunk, she gave a polite nod. "That would be lovely."

With a full glass, she was about to retire to the garden when she caught a glimpse of an achingly familiar face amongst the crowd. It was merely fleeting, to the point where Helena wondered if her tortured mind was playing tricks on her. However she put aside all thoughts of fresh air and moved through the crowd with an increased urgency. She saw several of the matching black and white uniforms, but none were worn by the woman she thought she had seen. After almost five minutes of fruitless searching, Helena was about to dismiss her suspicions altogether. The crowd in the ballroom was loud and increasingly cloying. Despite what had happened in the garden the previous evening, it was a beautiful outdoor space and she deseperately needed fresh air. She'd just spied Cain trying to discreetly direct her back to Wilde with a jerk of his head. Helena simply pretended she had not seen her partner. Instead she searched for another tray of the canapés, more out of hunger than any appreciation for their taste. Helena was so focused on loading up a napkin with as many as she could carry, that she did not even bother looking at the woman offering them to her.

"Should I just give you the entire tray?" an amused voice asked.

Helena was so startled she let the napkin full of canapés fall from her hand. The little pasty balls tumbled to the floor where they discharged their gooey contents across the floor. Despite the dress she wore, Helena dropped into a crouch and found herself eye to eye with Myka Bering. Both women attempted to clean up the mess – a task made difficult by the fact that neither of them were looking at their hands. Neither spoke, they simply stared. Eventually Myka had to look down to scoop up any remnants with a napkin. They stood at precisely the same moment, almost oblivious to the crowd moving around them.

With a 'what the hell are you doing here' expression on her face, Helena was fully aware that she was only a few moments away from creating a scene in the middle of the ballroom – a scene that had the potential to ruin the intimate trust she had built up with Wilde.

Thankfully, Myka saved them both. "I need to take this back to the kitchen," she said, struggling to maintain some sort of professional tone."

Helena replied with a tremulous nod. "I am terribly sorry-" she cut herself off just before she said Myka's name.

_Holy shit balls._ Myka let out the breath she had been holding as she darted across the ballroom in the direction of the kitchen. She did not dare cast a glance back over her shoulder lest her legs stop moving altogether. The chaotic bustle of the kitchen felt like a reprieve.

"Some drunk bitch dumped half my tray on the floor," Myka announced to one of her colleagues as she tipped the remnants into the garbage. The inane statement gave her a means of venting her raging emotions.

"Drunk bitches I can handle," the young blonde replied. Myka thought she remembered hearing her name was Gemma. "Just wait until some of the guys really get going. I worked a party at the Shard last month full of the same sort of tossers. One had his hand so far up my skirt, I'm surprised he didn't tell me what I had for breakfast."

Instantly thankful that she had spent her college days working in a bookstore, Myka gave her a tight-lipped smile of sympathy. "Yeah, tossers."

"Oi, you two!" Their hurried conversation drew the attention of one of the chefs. "Stop yacking and get back out there." Myka went to pick up another tray of canapés. "No, take the tray of flutes." The chef pointed her in the direction of a tray laden with freshly filled glass of champagne.

Myka stared at the potential disaster with an expression of abject horror. She had been lulled into thinking the whole waitressing gig was a piece of cake whilst carrying around the tray of pastries – full glasses of champagne were another matter altogether. With a firm grip, she gingerly picked up the tray, hoping like hell they didn't expect her to carry it in one hand. With the brief respite over, Myka swept back out into the ballroom. She had hoped that the noise would help her ignore the flustered sensations flitting throughout her body in the wake of seeing Helena. However they merely intensified when she was faced with the prospect of bumping into her again.

_This was a shit idea, Pete,_ Myka thought. She smiled sweetly as a young man whipped two glasses from her tray with his thanks directed in the general area of her chest. However, with their only alternative being Pete in a black and white dress, she had to concede that Cain had done well in getting her inside Wilde's mansion. She had a fifteen minute break coming her way, and she was determined not to waste a second of it. However, her initial assumption had been correct – she had nowhere to conceal a Farnsworth in her outfit, let alone a Tesla. She would be snooping around Wilde's mansion unarmed and with her only back up being the weasel Cain and the one woman that she did not want to look at, let alone talk to. _A very shit idea indeed. _

Helena gratefully escaped into the relatively cool night air. She had no canapés and her previously full glass was now decidedly empty. The chill kept most of the guests indoors so she had the terrace to herself aside from the ubiquitous cluster of smokers. As her gaze roamed over the garden, she closed her eyes and allowed herself to dwell on the kiss. Not the wrestling match with Wilde, but rather the hurried, uncomfortable lip lock she shared with Myka Bering.

_My dear, dear, Myka,_ she thought, unable to suppress a surge of affection. _You have absolutely no idea how to kiss a woman do you? _A genuine thrill ran through Helena's body at a mere thought of having the opportunity to show her. It really was remarkably simple. Kissing a man often felt like a competition, kissing a woman was like surrendering. There was no need to analyse the situation or think about what you were doing because you already knew everything. The softness of both lips and face were intimately familiar, you needed only give into them.

"I hope you're thinking about something extremely pleasurable." Startled, Helena spun to see Saskia Carmody starring at her with a bemused smile on her face. Her luxurious red hair was flowing freely over her shoulders in contrast with the masculine cut of the blue suit she wore. The model Helena had seen her with earlier was not at her side. "I hope you will forgive the intrusion. It is Helena is it not?"

"Indeed." Helena found herself wishing for another glass of wine, only to have Saskia offer her one as though she had read her thoughts. Her first instinct was to refuse it, but she felt as though she needed something in her hands. "Many thanks." She set the empty one down on the balustrade beside her.

"Saskia Carmody-"

"I know who you are," Helena interrupted politely.

Saskia managed a pleased laugh in response. "Ha! No doubt our mutual friend Herodotus has warned you to stay away from me?"

It had actually been Cain, and it had not been a warning so much as stating the obvious. Saskia Carmody was clearly a woman who had a deeply entrenched appreciation for women. Her gaze did not linger over Helena as blatantly as others, but rather she conveyed interest by staring her directly in the eye and angling her body so as to be close without crowding. In all truth, Helena had to admit that Saskia was a stunningly beautiful woman. Had she been the target of their operation and not Wilde, then she may very well have enjoyed the assignment. Then again, there was also the exasperating problem created by her obsession with Myka Bering.

"Mr Wilde did nothing of the sort, he is the perfect gentleman," Helena replied pleasantly.

Saskia smirked perceptively. "Ah, but is he? He is a man to be sure, but gentle, no. Do be on your guard around him won't you, Helena."

Helena took a sip of wine to conceal her surprise. "Is that a threat?" she asked quietly.

"Good heavens, no." Saskia laughed again, this time somewhat nervously. "It is merely a piece of sage advice from one woman to another." The hint of nervousness disappeared as she reached out to lay her fingers on Helena's wrist. "I was hoping that you would find other…more agreeable distractions amongst our circle of friends."

At the silky smooth touch of Saskia's fingertips on her skin, Helena could not suppress the shiver that ran through her body. The other woman picked up on it and shifted in closer, so close that her thigh was practically nestled between Helena's.

"Won't your date be wondering where you are?" Helena said, a little too breathlessly for her liking.

"Gwen? She is exquisite isn't she?" Saskia ran the tip of her tongue over her upper lip without taking her eyes off Helena. "A goddess in bed. However we have very little in common. I was hoping to find someone who shares my passion for collecting."

_For collecting women or artefacts?_ Helena mused. However the humorous thoughts were driven away as Saskia suddenly moved forward. When she spoke again, Helena could feel her lips moving against the skin of her neck. "And you seem as though you are a woman with a great deal of passion, Helena."

_Oh good lord_. Against her better judgement, Helena felt her knees go quite weak. Saskia Carmody had managed to entrance her where Wilde had failed miserably. However the thought of the man himself reminded her that he was her target. Catching her in an intimate embrace with another woman wasn't exactly conducive to building trust. Not to mention Myka…

A sudden movement startled her. It was following by an icy cold splash on the previously warm skin of her chest. With a gasp, Helena stepped away from Saskia. Her movement sent the empty wine glass flying from the balustrade into the garden below. She looked across to see Myka standing with an empty tray and an entirely feigned expression of apology on her face.

"I am so sorry!" Myka said hurriedly, attempting to mop at Helena's chest with a napkin.

As much as she was enjoying having Myka's hands in close proximity to her breasts, Helena snatched the napkin out of her grasp. "I think you've done quite enough already!" she snapped. "If you'll excuse me, Miss Carmody?"

"Anything I can do?" Saskia asked expectantly. Only a few drops had fallen on her own clothes. She had already removed her suit jacket and tossed it jauntily over her shoulder.

Helena shook her head abruptly. "No, I shall be fine. This young woman will no doubt take care of my dress."

"Of course," Myka replied quietly. "If you'll just follow me, ma'am. I'll fix everything."

Helena bid a rather hasty goodnight to Saskia, and followed Myka back inside the house. Thankfully the damp patch was barely evident on the black dress. Her skin did however feel decidedly sticky and she was sure her cheeks were an unhealthy shade of red.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Helena demanded, half under her breath, as they finally ducked out of the ballroom and into a quieter corridor.

"I'm your damn back-up!" Myka hissed in reply, waving the tray at Helena. "Although it looks as if you didn't need me at all, not with that woman all up in your…business!"

"My business?" Helena spluttered.

"Why don't you ask her to find the key and the cache for you?" Myka continued. "While you're at it, why don't you just seduce all of Wilde's buyers-" With a horrified gasp, she realised what she had said and promptly bit her lip.

It took an immense effort for Helena to curb her wounded fury as she steered Myka further down the corridor. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed that most guests seemed to be too intent on finding the bathrooms to notice her drag Myka through the nearest door. Helena already knew it was one of the house's libraries. She didn't bother turning on the lights as she faced the remorseful Agent.

"Helena, I'm so sorry," Myka whispered with genuine remorse. Her voice caught slightly. She turned and set the tray she had been carrying down on one of the desks. "I had no right to say that. It was cruel-"

"Yes it was cruel!" Helena interrupted harshly. "And not to mention dangerous! I'm not playing some game here, Myka. These people are dangerous." She forced herself to calm down, especially seeing as Myka's shoulders had started to shake slightly. "You could have ruined everything when you triggered the alarm last night," she added softly.

Myka turned with a surprised expression on her face. She was crying, her cheeks were glistening with unshed tears. "How the hell did you know it was me?"

"Instinct," Helena replied. Her heart ached at the sight of Myka's tears. _This is not the time, or the place,_ she thought as she slowly crossed the distance between them. "Myka, I-"

"If you're going to mention what happened yesterday morning, please don't." It was Myka's turned to interrupt her. "I'd like very much to forget that I ever…"

"Kissed me?" At that point Helena was practically standing toe to toe with Myka. She had to fight the urge to reach out and run her thumbs gently under both her eyes to wipe the tears away. _Get the bloody hell out of this room, H.G. old girl,_ she tried to tell herself. _There will be time for playing silly buggers when your lives aren't in danger – heavens, Myka's lips really are quite seductive…_

"-kissed you," Myka added. Her lips parted as she tried to work out the strange play of emotions that was flickering across Helena Wells' face. Her dark eyes were a turbulent storm of fear and something else – something Myka did not recognise until Helena suddenly leaned forward and eliminated any distance between them.

_To hell with it, when are our lives not going to be in danger?_ "What if I wish not to forget?" Helena whispered in the seconds before she claimed Myka's lips. All thoughts of running out of the room were banished from her mind in that instant.

The awkwardness that had been prevalent the previous day was still very much present in the moment their lips met. Myka reacted with shock, her body instinctively tensing at the unexpected contact. Helena slid one arm around Myka's waist and rested her hand gently in the curve of her back. At the same time, she brought the other up to cup her cheek as she moved her lips in a gentle caress.

Helena's gentle ministrations gradually melted the apprehension from Myka's body. Feeling slightly giddy, she responded enthusiastically in kind. All of the pent up frustration she had felt over the preceding months – ever since bloody Helena Wells had strolled into her life – was released in a determined effort to reassure herself that Helena really was kissing her. As Myka pressed forward like a horny teenager faced with the woman of their dreams, Helena drew back. Myka was confused and hesitant as Helena gently stroked her lower lip with her own. A laugh escaped the Englishwoman's lips. Myka started to tense again as she believed Helena was cruelly mocking her.

"Slowly, my darling," Helena murmured as she continued to ply the corners of Myka's lips with kisses.

At the sound of the word 'darling' from Helena's lips, Myka's giddiness overtook her in a sudden rush. Helena had used the term of endearment on several occasions, but this time was different. How could one word sound so painfully erotic and compassionate at the same time? Her already weak knees gave out beneath her and she started to slump backwards. Helena's strong embrace encircled her before she could fall. Instead she was drawn forward. It felt natural to slip into Helena's arms. She buried her face in the crook of her neck and inhaled deeply. Helena smelled of lavender and champagne. It was both intoxicating and comforting.

The last thing she wanted to do was leave, but the tight dress she wore reminded her exactly why she was there…and why Helena was there. When they stepped apart, Helena flashed a broad smile. It reminded Myka of the smile she had seen in her dreams in the seconds before Helena died – generous, brilliant and complete. Myka suspected that it was the sort of smile you gave someone you loved.

"You really ought not to run in the wake of kissing someone," Helena chided her gently. "At least not without giving them a chance to kiss you back."

"I didn't think you wanted to kiss me back." The response was terrible, but it was all Myka could think to say under the circumstances. She scrubbed at her eyes in an effort to dry them.

"Stop," Helena ordered quietly. "You'll make a mess." She found a box of tissues on a nearby and plucked several out. "I've wanted to kiss you for a long time, Myka," she admitted as she gently wiped the tears away whilst trying not to disturb Myka's make-up. "I guess it was a case of the blind leading the blind."

"Obviously," Myka smirked, but for some reason the tears kept trying to fall. She sniffed. "Gosh, I'm sorry. I bet you're regretting kissing me now you've found out that I'm a mushy little girl."

"There is absolutely nothing girlish about you, Myka Bering," Helena replied confidently. "You are very much a woman."

It was then that Myka realised the other woman's gaze was roaming appreciatively over her body. It lasted for all of a few seconds before Helena looked back to her eyes and flashed another of her charming smiles. She closed in for another kiss. This time it was painfully short. Myka let out a hot breath of desire as Helena pulled away.

"Now you need to get back to work…and I need to find Wilde." Helena squared her shoulders resolutely. "Yesterday he was on the verge of telling me something, something significant. If I can get that out of him…well, let's just say that it will all be worth it."

Myka watched as Helena's brave smiled wavered. "Are you alright, Helena?" she asked with a gentle persistence. "Last night Wilde seemed…intent."

"I'm fine, truly I am. I'm quite confident that I can get what I want, without Mr Wilde getting what he wants." The fact that the smile disappeared altogether hinted that Helena was not as confident as she claimed. Myka started to move towards her again but Helena waved her off. "Scoot! Before I take advantage of you in that absurd outfit."

Myka backed reluctantly towards the door. She would have preferred that Helena did take advantage of her in the outfit but the unlocked library of an adversaries' house was not the ideal location for sex – and certainly not for first time sex.

"You'll be careful, won't you?" Myka asked.

Another smile. "You know I will."

_I love you. Too soon_? Myka's hand found the door knob and she twisted it. Helena had already turned away. _Yeah, too soon_. She slipped out into the corridor.

With the sound of the door closing behind Myka, Helena reached for a tissue of her own. She dabbed at her eyes gently, unsure whether the tears were ones of fear or happiness.


End file.
